Heirs of What
by aecwriterluv
Summary: They should have known they couldn't out run fate's unkindness. They should have known better than to think their luck would hold and they could all make it. Just as success is finally in reach and hope is mounting in tired hearts fate catches them and strikes with a crushing blow. A brother's love may not be enough this time. Sometimes even the strongest aren't strong enough.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: With the Mountain in sight it seems that they have succeeded at last. But they are wrong. Many struggles and trails still lay infront of them before they can rejoice. Starting with the members of Thorin's company left behind in Lake Town. The events of one night will cause a life time of regrets, hearts heaving with guilt, and pain that can not be undone. But as long as hope still lives, no one is truly dead.**

 **Please enjoy this story inspired by J. R. R. Tolkien's wonderful story 'The Hobbit' all due credit goes to him of course. I have tried to create something from his magical world full of the charators and places that drew us in to continue and expand a story so loved by so many of us.**

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 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (1) '** _ **Fated Hours'**_

Fate had never smiled kindly upon the sons of Durin.

There were times it did a well enough job of deceiving them. Some would argue that though the hand they were dealt was tainted by tragedy and darkened by loss, they were yet fortunate. Some said they were blessed for the traits their family had always owned. Bravery, loyalty, honor. All characters valued and at times coveted by dwarves with lineage that lacked such respect. They even possessed some characteristics that were less openly admired. A beauty uncommon to their race that wound its way through their heritage, and by the youngest two likeability and humor matched by none.

But it was all a cruel pretence. A cruel lie. Anything disguised as good favor was nothing but deception. Too much of their kin's blood ran over cold ground, too many had been slain by enemy hands, too many had fallen to ill circumstances to call it anything else. Whatever favor they seemed to have been given was only a ploy to hide the unjust and unkind nature of destiny. For when the lines were drawn and the night fell fate did not look upon them with kindness.

And so, though it grieved and pained him, perhaps Kili should not have been so surprised by his ill fate as he laid sick and wounded in the village of men while his uncle continued the quest without him. Timing too, it seemed, had played a hand in his cruel luck. For to see success and be unable to touch it hurt worse then never knowing what he was missing. And he could see it. The great shadow of the Mountain looming over him, close enough to taunt him in his failure.

He had tried desperately to hide any sign of his sickness. From the moment the orc arrow had buried into his flesh he had felt it. At first it had been coupled with the pain of the wound itself, and it was difficult to distinguish the poison from the burning of his torn skin and muscle, and the throbs that followed each heartbeat as his body warned him of his new injury. But slowly the symptoms of shock and newness had faded and he was left the aching that spread through his limb.

And the poison.

It had reached his blood and moved slowly and painfully through the rest of his body. It felt like heat, like a fire burning deep within him slow and hot, like smoldering embers. And as he had dropped to the ground by the river a day ago clutching his wound, he had felt it. Felt it climbing up his leg with a darkness and malice that ignited fear in his heart. He had realized then that this was no mere flesh wound. Terror had jumped into his throat, and quickened his pounding heart. Fear had widened his eyes to the point that some of the Company had noticed. They had looked on with concern at their youngest member's state That was when Kili had force swallowed the terror and shook away any look of uncertainty with the shake of his head, insisting that he was fine, that it was nothing. His confidence did not go beyond words though. Within him he was still terrified, and inside he could still feel it. Moving, crawling in his body, dragging through every limb, flowing through his veins. It felt heavy and thick, as if lifeless dead blood crept inside of him.

Still, he had for the most part been able to ignore the pain, and continue on, keeping up well enough. He had been careful to only favor his hurt leg when every eye was turned, to fight the grimaces away from his features in the presence of his companions, and to silence his gasps of pain whenever anyone was near enough to hear. But when the poison reached his mind he was unable to keep it hid it any longer. He had tried to fight it, the dizziness, the fever, the shaking, the weakness. He had attempted to ignored the soreness of his wound and the deep burning of the poison and carried on doing what was expected of him. But it was all for not when in one moment he failed, and his body broke and he could not stop himself from falling. And he had crashed to the bottom of the stairs with the weapons descending around him.

One brief moment before they where fighting and running to free themselves from the trap Kili had constructed Thorin had looked at him. And in that one moment Kili was swallowed by misery and guilt. He had seen it in Thorin's eyes too clear and too obvious to mistaken. His uncle was disappointed with him. And that, more than his pain and his suffering was too much to bare. There was nothing his could do or say to right his unforgivable mistake. Because of his error and his weakness the company had been captured by the men. And only by the skillful negotiations and too tempting promises of his uncle were they set free to finish their quest. Without him.

From the time Thorin had told him of his plans to reclaim the Mountain that summer's eve in the late hours of the night outside their home in Ered Luin Kili had wondered. He had looked up to the stars that night and wondered what it would be like to gaze upon those same stars from one of Erebor's towers. He had wondered what it would be like to roam the halls where his mother and uncles had grown, where his forefathers had once sat upon an unthreatened throne for so long. He had wondered what it would be like to see the wealth and splendor of the mountain he had heard tales of. To finally see the kingdom the dragon had stolen from them; the place his uncle had reminded him more than once should have been his home. Since that day Kili had wanted nothing more than to help his uncle take back their homeland. Neither disappointment nor devastation was truly the emotion he suffered when Thorin had all but forbade him to come. He had been crushed, completely and entirely by his own failure and his pride gutted then and there by his own uncle. Thorin had forced Kili to stay behind while they continued on.

"Stay here, rest, join us when you are healed," his uncle had told him. Thorin's speech was filled with concern, but his eyes had held in them a look of doubt. And that, rejection, was the most painful thing Kili had faced in his lifetime.

As he watched the Company disappear on the water he had felt an overwhelming misery and shame. For so many months he had sought to prove himself worthy and valuable to his uncle. He had ignored all of their dangerous encounters, their numerous toils with near death, the exhaustion, and all the cold nights. He had even faced the intimidating and at times frightening challenges that came with his first true journey into perils outside the Blue Mountains with an unbreakable fortitude. He had accompanied his uncle on errands before yes, venturing to nearby towns and aiding him on small quest away from their home. Having spent much of his youth training with weapons and learning of combat, he was certainly ready. And was, in fact, among the most well taught and prepared of the Company. But his lack of experience in the world was daunting as it seemed to stare him in the face each time he was tasked with something he had never done, and it was evident more than once during their quest. He was ready, and trained, and even so it was nothing short of a struggle many times to keep up with whose more learned and experienced than himself.

But Kili had faced it all with a grateful and joyous heart, and a spirit that shone bright despite it all. For there was nothing he wished for more than to join Thorin in this quest. Nothing more than to prove himself worthy. When he watched the boat carry most of the Company towards the Mountain as he stood on the shore left behind, he had finally known, with a heart nearly too heave to bare, that he failed. He had not proven himself, and he had not been deemed worthy in his uncle's eyes. That was a blow he had not prepared for, and could not have if he had tried. It ripped at him as painfully as the poison resting in his veins.

Only now, laying in the bargemen's home feverish and lost to his sickness could he forget his failure. He was delirious, and he knew it. He knew it by the way the voices around him were distant and weak. He knew it by the way his eyes struggle to see in anything but a blurred haze. He knew it by the panic he felt, by the way his body jerked and twisted in pain without his consent, and by the way his cries echoed remote and faint in his own ears spite his every effort to silence them. In the fleeting moments when his mind was clear and he was aware of that around him, he could tell he was delirious. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was nothing he could do but suffer as it drained him of strength and consciousness and life.

He could feel Fili's grip on his shoulder. Strong fingers pressing down into sore, bruising skin. He could hear Fili's deep, pulling breaths near his ear. He could feel his brother's muscles tighten each time he jerked. And he could feel Fili's hands shoving, forcing him again down onto the table. His hold was firm, unloosening, and even painful. And yet Kili willed it to stay. He welcomed this pain. It was familiar and comforting and it told him he was not abandoned. His brother had not left him.

Kili did not want to die alone. He did not wish to be rejected in death as he had been by the lake only a few painful hours ago. Other hands, he knew, held him too. But he did not care for them. Only for the ones holding his shoulders. The ones he had watched train for countless hours. The ones he'd felt reach out and grab him at times when Fili was worried; even as recently as their journey. The ones that had pulled him to his feet after a fall too numerous and often to ever bother counting. He only cared for the face above them and the wide, blue, worried eyes watching him. The fear of loss that shone in those eyes told Kili, even in his state of deliria, that he would not die unmourned. As the pain dragged him moment by moment closer to his end and the poison slowly choked his life, Fili was there.

When at last he first felt it leaving him, when the elf maiden first began speaking her healing words over him, Kili thought he had fallen into madness. That the poison had finally taken complete control of him. But slowing the heaviness in his mind began to clear, and the toxin faded in abating waves with each enchanted word she spoke. He felt the poison retreating from his veins, being drawn from his blood. It did not go without pain though. A burning reached through his body stronger with each of her words. Darkness clung tight and sickness did not leave when first asked. But as the pain grew, the illness weakened. And then finally, with a sensation he could not describe as anything else but pureness, it was gone. The she-elf had healed him.

He would not die of his wound. Fili would not have to watch him meet his end. He would be able to join Thorin in Erebor still. Gratitude pulled at his lips, but he was unable to speak. He could only hold her gaze and hope she knew of his thanks. Hope that Tauriel knew how grateful he was. Thorin was wrong, the elves were not all cruel and heartless. This one, whom he had only shared a few passing moments speaking to during their imprisonment, had saved his life. He owed her much. And even despite everything his uncle had always told him of elves, he believe a friendship was possible.

He would live now. And that was enough. That was enough to let him rest in gladness and peace. And rest he did. Exhaustion had long ago claimed him, and had it not been for the pain refusing to let him sleep he surely would have. He knew he would not have woken again. Death would had found him buried in delirious dreams. But now he could sleep without fear of never waking. Now he could close his eye knowing when they opened his would be well, and his brother would be there waiting for him. He was still weak, to be sure, and a heaviness still hung on his limps, but his mind was clear and he was no longer dying and that was enough.

Fili had heard of the healing power of elves. He had heard of the way their ageless hands drew out sickness and banished illness. He had even heard that they could call the dying to life again. He had heard of it, But he had never seen it. He had not witnessed the miracles they worked. Until now. Until it was his own brother dying before his eyes.

Watching Kili jerk and cry out in pain was heartbreaking. With each of his brother's dying breaths Fili felt a fear, a terror he had never know before. Dread climbed in his veins. Disbelief choked his lungs. And grief pounded in his heartbeat strong enough to drown every other emotion and any other fear he had ever felt. When Kili had collapsed into his arms by the lake, his skin burning with fever and his face drained of all color Fili had known it was nothing short of perilous. Nothing less would have rendered Kili to such a state of weakness. But it wasn't until he saw the sad and regretted shake of Oin's head as the old healer looked around, looked anywhere for help, that Fili knew the truth.

Kili was dying.

Nothing had ever hurt like this truth. Nothing had ever came close. Nothing could compare to the panic and horror he had felt mounting within him. He was losing his brother.

The grip of terror and grief only began to loosened after the elf healed Kili. Only when Fili saw his brother's dark eyes close in a peaceful rest for the first time as his chest rose and fell again in a familiar rhythm was he able to breath without rushed panicked laced gasps. Only then could he feel the tears of relief fill his eyes. Gladness and thankfulness and joy had suddenly replaced the horror and fear. And then Fili knew, he knew Kili would survive the night. And when morning came, should Kili be well enough, they would join Thorin in Erebor.

It was by more than mere chance that the elves had found them. A miracle woven by the hands of fate. Legolas, Mirkwood's prince, told him that they were trailing the orc pack that had attacked them on the river. The pair of elves had followed them to Lake Town, where they had discovered the remaining members of Thorin's company that were left behind and a dying Kili. Tauriel, the she-elf, had compassion on him, and being too kindhearted to let him die a most painful death, they had interrupted their search to heal him. Legolas had hesitated for but a moment, and in the end he did not objected. Compassion it seem, was not as scarce among the elves as Fili had always been led to believe. It was far more plentiful, he was now convinced, than in men.

A fore night ago the people of Lake Town had cheered for them. They had showered them with gifts and supplies, had helped them in every possible way, and just that morning sent them off with fair wishes. But then, thought Fili pleaded and begged for their aid, at the first sight of trouble they had turned their backs and shut their doors leaving Kili to die. Only Bard, the sole objector of their quest had let them in and offered his help despite their conflict. And it was then that Fili decided most men where bad, cruel heartless and selfish. But some, few, where great. A few believed in honor. A few were selfless and could see passed their own desires to care for the needs of others. The kindness of a man and elf had saved his brothers life that day and Fili knew he would not soon forget that. But perhaps he could not judge the people of Lake Town so very severely. For even some of the Company had ignored Kili's pain when he had first fallen ill.

Every member of their company loved Kili. There was not one that did not enjoy his humor and laugh, his bright spirit and his ability to create a pleasant mood even after the most trying of times. There was not one that did not appreciate his smile and jokes and light heart opposed to that of their own aged ones. And not one that did not value his skills as a fighter, his sharp eyes and keen ears. They had been sorry when he was hurt to be sure. Still, some may have shared a few meaningful glances and a few words whispered in hushed tones to the nature that he had brought his injures upon himself. That his impulsive recklessness had finally caught up to him. It had been said more than once that Kili searched for trouble. And now he had found it.

Fili had seen the acquisition in their faces. But not one of them dared to speak it. None dared to voice those thoughts because they knew. They knew Kili, in all of his haste and rashness had saved them all when he opened the gate on the river. With an orc arrow to the leg as his price to pay, Kili had spared every one of their lives. And though they failed to voice it, Fili could see that they were grateful. It was enough to silence the blame once they all had a chance to realize what Kili had done for them. And for that, Fili could forgive their accusing looks towards his brother. Kili had, after all, always been known for his skill of getting himself in to trouble, and in fact still was. But it was not enough to excuse Thorin's actions.

Fili had already boarded the boat when he heard Thorin speaking to Kili.

"Not you," his uncle had said, stopping Kili, freezing him where he stood. Kili had tried to pass it off as a joke, as though Thorin was merely toying with him. But Fili could see it in his brother's face. Kili knew he was not. He knew he was being left behind, banished on the shore. And even Thorin's gently instructions to rest and heal could not ease his pain. Fili had protested, immediately. It was natural and even instinctive to speak on Kili's behalf. He had tried to get Thorin to see reason. He had pleaded and begged for his brother. But Thorin did not yield.

"Someday you will be king and you will understand," Thorin had said. And for a moment Fili had excepted that. He had let his excitement to enter the Mountain and his duty as heir blind him to what really mattered. He had even almost turn away, resigned to the fact that Kili would not be coming. But then he caught the look of complete hurt and rejection in his brother's eyes. And in that moment realized how utterly wrong he was. He could not leave Kili behind. Nothing was more important than family and he rebuked himself for forgetting that, if only for a moment.

Suddenly it did not matter that this was the biggest opportunity of his life, or that this was the adventure he had dreamed about from his youth. This was the very thing he had longed for since he first heard the stories about the Mountain and gold and dragon. It was everything anyone seeking honor and a quest could wish for. And yet now it none mattered. In a moment he was ready to give it all up. Because in every dream, in every fantasy he had ever had of bravery and battles and taking back their homeland, Kili had been in them. Kili had always been there with him. He could not leave now without his brother. He could not leave him behind. He realized the one thing that he had always most wanted when he dreamed of this very adventure was that they should share in it together. With new determination Fili had step out of the boat towards Kili only to be stopped by Thorin's arm and scolding.

"Fili, don't be a fool. You belong with the Company."

Words and anger alike had rush through him. How dare Thorin ignore family. How dare he weigh Erebor more important than Kili. But Fili had, in the end, settled on the first and truest thing his mind thought.

"I belong with my brother," he had said, his eyes burning with anger only leaving his uncle's when he turned again to Kili. Fili knew he had never said anything truer.

"Someday you will be king and you will understand."

That's what his uncle had told him. But he did not understand. He did not understand a love for gold that was stronger than love of kin. He did not understand it, and he never wished to. He had realized with one pained look from Kili that no amount of gold could be worth hurting someone you loved. But Thorin did not. He had left them both on the bank. With Oin by his own kindness, and Bofur by luck, good or bad.

Thorin had hurt Kili. If not deliberately, than knowingly. And that was nearly as bad. He had deemed the treasures within the Mountain worth more than Kili's dreams and hopes, had disregarded his sacrifice, and forgotten his loyalty in a heartbeat. It would all be forgivable, given the importance of their quest if not for the love Thorin had ignored. Kili loved and revered his uncle more than perhaps he should. And Thorin had deemed that worthless against Erebor's riches. That was inexcusable in Fili's eyes. Biased as he may be, no one hurt Kili without evoking his anger. Not even their uncle. Not even himself. Fili was sorry he had thought of leaving Kili behind. He was ashamed that it had taken as long as it did to realize his error.

But now, watching Kili sleep peacefully and healed, and feeling the joy it brought his heart, Fili knew with new certainty that he was right. He belonged with his brother. Always. Despite being left behind, despite Kili's wound still sore even if healed of the poison, and despite his disappointment in their uncle, Fili was happy. He was pleased and grateful to a measure he had not been for as long as he could remember. And for a fleeting moment it looked as though happiness would shadow their night after all. But no. No indeed. Fate did not smile kindly upon Durin blood.

With no sign of warning but a shower of ceiling dust, the groan of pressured wood, and the creaking of the stairs, evil came. The door fell from its hinges and they were there. Orcs had come.

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 **I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what will hopefully be a very much enjoyed story. If not already obvious, there will be no Kili and Tauriel romance in this stroy. It's not that I hate Tauriel. In fact I like the she-elf's charactor. It's just that like Tolkien, I think the beauty of the Hobbit is the love between family and friends. So I will be focusing on that. Again, I hope you enjoyed and please let me know what you thought with a review. I'd love to know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (2)** _ **'To Come Without Warning'**_

He had fought orcs before. Not so very long ago on the river in fact. But never so outnumbered. They were just ten against an untold number of foes. And not ten of the best to be sure. Kili was wounded and Bard's children, though brave enough, had never seen combat, let alone an orc raid. They were outnumbered and unprepared. Fili watched in alarm as orcs poured into the small house through the downed door and even weakly enforced places of the roof. One after the next they came. It took only moments before the company was swarmed by their sudden enemy and were left fighting for their lives. Everywhere Fili turned, everywhere his blade reached it was met by a large body, dark blood spilling to the ground. They each looked alike with their ugly faces, rough skin and small eyes. Each as foul as the next. Animal like snares came from their lipless mouths as they pressed in, intent on their foul purpose.

He had fought orcs before. Even recently. But never so alone. It was not just the absence of most of the Company that unsettled him so. Nor was it the simple lack of dwarves altogether. Even though Fili was only accustomed to fighting alongside his own race and it felt strange at the least to have so few with him and instead being aided by elves and men, that was not the cause of his upset. It was the lack of one dwarf at his side, one whom Fili had never faced an enemy without. Kili was not there next to him as he always was.

They had been trained together. In both style and proximity. They had learned together. And it was for that reason that they fought so alike. That and the shared blood that ran through their veins. Without needing thought or strategy they had learned to worked with a oneness, knowing by mere instinct where the other would be. Like a reflection or shadow they could moved together, with a natural and involuntary nature that appeared at times too effortless to be called fighting. They had learned early what many others fail to learn ever. They were proficient alone. Together they were matchless. Together they were far stronger and more capable. Together they could not be beat. Their enemies could not face them both. And that was always how they fought.

That was why when Fili felt an orc blade at his back, he was for a moment stunned as to why Kili wasn't there. For all the strengths they shared, their greatest weakness too came with their reliance on one another. Watching their own back was not something they were ever forced to learn by experience. After choking back his surprise, Fili turned and buried his blade into orc flesh with one movement too quick to counter. The orc sank to the ground limp and soon lifeless. Fili gracelessly turned to look around himself in a frantic attempt to keep any more of the enemy from approaching his backside without warning. He felt uneasy and inept without Kili beside him. He felt alone. Even in a room so crowded and his brother so near.

But Kili, he knew, was unable to join him. With a quick glance in his brother's direction, he saw that Kili was still struggling to pull himself up for the bed while trying to avoid the weapons spinning around him. Kili could not fight, not really. He could only try to avoid attacks at best and was at the moment succeeding. Fili could only hope it stayed that way. He wondered if that was the real cause of his unease, his brother's inability to protect himself. When Kili was fighting beside his Fili knew he was alright. As long as he was there he was still standing, still safe. But now he was either, and Fili was denied the constant assurance he was so used to. Now he could only hope his younger brother knew enough to stay back; knew his condition warranted him unable to fight. He hoped Kili would not attempt any of his brave but thoughtless efforts in his state of weakness. Because Fili was not close enough to help if needed, and he could not reach Kili. Not with an enemy surrounding him.

At one time Oin was at his side and together they brought down several large orcs. The old dwarf was a healer but he was no stranger to battle, having experienced his share of it. The staff he was using had been found among Bard's assortment. It was a poor imitation of his own iron-shod staff and Fili wasn't even sure that it actually was one. Still, Oin handled it well and his presence beside Fili was welcomed. And yet it was still wrong.

Fili could not help but believe that this was the worst possible time and circumstances to learn of this weakness he possessed, this exposure he felt, and wondered if he shared it with his brother. Would Kili be faring any better than he? But of course he would. Kili was always better at change. Kili was always better at adapting than he. When they were young it was always Kili that thrived with the unexpected. When they trained it was always he that managed the unanticipated blows, or unforeseen shots so well. Thorin said it came with his impulsive nature, and follow well his brash reputation. He had a talent, a gift some would call it, for never being too surprised by anything. A gift his brother did not share. More than once Fili had found himself jealous of Kili for his ease at adjusting to anything and quickly. But it had only happened a few times that he was more jealous than proud. There was nothing Kili could not somehow manage to escape, even if sometimes it was an unplanned misstep or blunder that saved him. Perhaps luck was more on his side than anything else. But it was a wonder the way he never seemed to get caught by anything, or at least not for long. Anything but an orc arrow, Fili reflected. Kili's luck or skill had lapsed long enough to get him stuck by a morgul shaft. And still, Fili knew their separation was effecting him more than his brother. For the first time since the beginning of Kili's illness Fili felt concern for selfish reasons. For entirely his own sake he wished his brother was well enough to aid him.

Kili was busy pulling himself to his feet, caught in the surprise of the attack, and struggling to remain standing as his vision spun. He didn't want to stay laying down, hid from the fight and vulnerable should he be attacked. But simply the will to fight didn't mean he was ready to fight. Still trying to stead his sigh, Kili heard Bofur yell a warning at him. Turning quickly around he saw an orc whose blade was already swinging at his head. Just before it reached him, as his breath caught in panic, the blade fell and the orc's head rolled from its shoulders. Legolas stood behind it, meeting Kili's eyes with a look of amusement.

"Might want to watch your back," he smirked.

"I'll remember that," Kili answered with an entertained smile that reflected his usual nature. He watched as the elven prince moved back into the room fighting, each move deliberate and effortless. Between the pair of elves and their lethally fluent motions, there could be no question about their skill or value. Kili found himself hoping he never came to be enemies with their race.

Fortunately his mind was now clear enough to respond quickly when he was again attacked by a creature of a much more vile race, this time from the front .

In the few breaths between attacks Fili saw his brother attempting to defend himself against a large orc. He was also struggling to keep the creature to his right, away from Bard's daughters who had sought refuge crouched between the bed and wall. Weaponless and hurt, he could only struggle with his enemy while still keeping a steadying hand on the bed post. Fili cursed his brother's foolishness. He should not have gotten up.

"Kili," he called to him across the room quickly releasing one of his knives in Kili's direction. The younger prince caught it easily for he had already anticipated his brother's help in supplying him a weapon upon hearing his name called. Even with their uncommon distance, neither had lost their instinctive mindfulness of the other's location or position. Fili watched as Kili buried the knife into the orc's body, then jerk in pain as he fell, following it to the ground.

"Kili," Fili shouted his brother's name again, the sound of panic clinging to the end of his cry.

Unable to speak through his hiss of pain, Kili just shook his head to explain that he was fine, though he was far from it, and struggled to stand from where he had fallen. The wound in his leg did not burn with venom anymore, but the torn flesh and muscle left behind were enough to cripple any and all of his efforts to move it at a speed faster and more aggressive than a slow limp. Breathing deeply he shakily stood, grateful for Fili's help and readied himself for more combat. He was both surprised and thankful when an immediate attack didn't come and noticed with relief and pleasure that the orc's number was quickly diminishing. With no little pride Kili noted that their gathering of dwarves, elves, and men had done quite well in their defense, despite their disadvantage. Whether it could be attributed to their own skill or their enemy's lack of ability he couldn't say. But should it be either, he was proud. Not particularly for himself. In truth, his injury had rendered him all but useless in this skirmish, though he knew by virtue of their loyalty the other's would be slow to admit it. Except for perhaps Fili, who would probably make mention of it in stories to come. And even then Kili knew it would only be in jest. He was more proud of their joined effort then in its success. Proud that together, though a forced and unlikely assembly, they had managed so well. And he was also grateful for the short respite he was allowed by the break in attacks as he tried to recover some strength.

As satisfied as he could be with Kili's state - he was after all alive - Fili turned again to meet his next foe. Dragging his blade through the air in a well trained pattern he reached the orc's neck and sank into its flesh. He noticed, with a curious awareness that didn't seem to fit the time or place, that the handle of the blade between his fingers was not his carved one. It did not bare his family's design on its hilt, and it did not reflect the gold color of his finely made and chosen blades, fashioned to his liking. This was not his iron forged blade. One. Only one had he been able to keep confined from the elves when they were captured. Placed along the inside of his belt and tucked into the leather, he had somehow kept it hidden right before their nose. When Bilbo helped them to escape, Fili had been forced to leave all the rest behind in the hands of their elven captors. He had been left only one of his treasured weapons. Finding a crude and roughly fashioned dagger among the weapons Bard had provided them, if they could rightly be called that, Fili had settled for it in favor of his preference for multiple blades. Stripped of his large number he had only the crude one now in his hand, and his own which he had given to Kili.

He couldn't help the small smile that pressed at his lips. Kili always seemed the get the best, even when he did not ask for it. He always had. That could perhaps be, Fili thought, the result of being younger. But something in him believed it had more to do with his brother's nature then their age. Kili had a natural charm about him, an appeal none could ignore. Fili knew, he had tried. It was that very charm that caused much of his envy towards Kili when they were young. The younger boy had used it to get out of more trouble than Fili himself had ever been in. And it had won him arguments and gained him favors all of his life. Fili always knew he should not be jealous of his brother's charisma, nor hold it against him in anger. Kili had not asked for it, though he had learned quite well how to use it to his advantage. And true to memory, Fili knew Kili had gotten the both of them out of a share of trouble. Now grown Fili found Kili's clumsy, cheeky appeal more amusing than anything. Maybe he had just fallen with everyone else into Kili's snare when he wasn't looking. But if he had, he did mind.

His thoughts were pulled quickly away from memories back to present when he felt the ground move under his feet.

It came without warning, the first groan from the mountain. Like the waking sounds of a slumbering past. For so long it seemed as though even time had abandoned the Lonely Mountain, left behind in its ruin and desolation. For nothing had moved and nothing had changed. But finally life had returned to those deeply buried chambers, and it had stirred with it a neglected evil most had chosen to forget and all had chosen to ignore. The first that was felt was a quake that shook town and water alike, ripping across its lakes. The first that was heard was a moan from deep within the heart of the mountain, echoes bouncing off of ancient halls of carven stone. Kili felt the floor shake, tremble beneath him.

"What was that?" he yelled, no longer concerned about drawing attention to himself. The orcs were only a few left now as most that weren't slain had fled or where doing so.

It came again. Louder and strong this time.

"That," Oin finally said, "was a dragon."

Kili felt the air rush from his lungs. A dragon. That meant it was alive, that it had never been dead. That meant the Company had failed, whose fate now could only be guessed at. That meant it was coming towards them. He felt dread settle around him so heavy he could not breath properly.

Fili felt the shake. He heard Oin's answer and he saw Kili's wide panicked eyes. And yet he didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't do anything in fact. He could not protect anyone from a dragon. Not even himself. And he knew it. Would they all be doomed to a fate of fire and death? No, he decided. They would not.

"We have to leave, get out of here," he shouted once his moment of silent panic had passed. "Make for the water." No one dared to protested his instruction or authority as they hurried to comply. Legolas led them toward the stairs, still cautions as the remaining orcs fled the house. Kili hastened to follow as he step in behind Bofur only after checking to insure Fili was coming. It was at that very moment that his brother slipped under his left arm, supporting much of his weight.

"I can manage on my own," Kili objected. He was ignored.

Bard's children had already been ushered outside by Tauriel proving yet again the compassion and care she truly held for others. But the bargeman himself turn away from the back of the group, heading into the house again.

"Where are you going?" Kili asked as he and his brother stopped. Bard didn't answer but instead moved for the center of the room.

"You would go, abandon your children?" Fili shouted at him as anger climbed in his throat.

"If I don't, we will all die."

Bard reached up towards the ceiling and pulled something down from where it had been tied in the rafters. A black arrow. Fili heard his brother gasp beside him. He didn't have to be an anchor to understand the significance of the weapon. They had all heard the stories. They all knew the tale. That nothing but a black arrow could pierce a dragon's hide.

"Please, watch over my children," Bard pleaded.

Kili and Fili nodded together, and with that the bargeman was gone, climbed up through a breach in the roof, vanished into the town with a black arrow held tightly at his side. Where the ancient arrow came from they neither one knew. And it didn't much matter as their concerns fell fully upon its intended target.

They had been told of the night the fire drake destroyed Dale. How it razed streets with one mighty, horrid breath. How it lay waste to goods and life alike. They knew how he had stolen Erebor, driving out its occupants with flames that woke the darkness that had long settled there. Flames that swallowed souls and turned to ash every life it reached. Claws like spears and greed enough to leave only destruction and ruin and death in its wake. Greed enough to rival even that of their great-grandfather.

The brothers had heard many recounts of that night by those that witnessed the calamity and lived to tell of it. And all told of a sickness, one present long before the dragon ever reached them. One buried deep within the heart of the king. They said it grew slowly and over time, a love of gold and all things shinning, but most of all gold. It grew until it consumed him, blinded him, controlled him, and even corrupted him so that he did not know anything but a love for the pale light of riches glowing in his halls. And it dwelled in him thriving because he could not see it. Gold sickness was what most called it. All, in fact, but one.

Only their mother, Dis, sister of Thorin, daughter of Thrain said differently. She told them it was a sickness of the heart and not the mind. That greed had brought all things foul upon them. That love of riches and treasures had dealt them death in great number. She never argued her notion with Thorin who had suffered enough grief already. He didn't need the added burden of more family shame thrust upon him. But she believed it. Perhaps he did too and chose to ignore it in favor of a more honorable memory of his grandfather. Or maybe he knew and chose to keep it in his heart away from reproachful folks with enough reason to be angry as they watched their homes burned and stolen. Either way Dis decided others need not know for it could only bring more pain. So she told only her sons in hope that they would grow to understand the dangers of lust for riches and instead a love for all things worth living for. And indeed Fili and Kili had found within their small family and life in Ered Luin a love that could not be replaced, nor did they wish to.

The threat of everything they had been raised to fear or detest, both a dragon and a covetous and greedy heart, could stir in them nothing but immense dread. It had all happened before their lifetime. Long enough ago that time had turned stories to legends in their heads when they were young. Once dragon fire was as distant from them as the stars and its mention offered only excitement of adventures to come full of bravery and battle and honor. In their youth they had encountered and slain many fire breathing beasts in their day and night dreams. But outside of childish fantasies and imaginings neither had seen a dragon.

They could do was guess at its appearance. They could only wonder on its size. And fear the damage it would cause. But for all they didn't know there was enough they did. They knew of its power and strength. Its gift of destruction and devastation. How it could deal such ruin as an entire town wrecked and scorched in a few quick blows. Of the way it robbed a home long dwelled in by an ancient and strong race. And how it could annihilate whole families at once before any could draw a breath. They knew should they not escape and quickly that their fate would not be so different.

So Fili and Kili fled, following their companions down the bargeman's steps to the lake. Once Kili faltered. His sore leg and weak body gave under his weight and had it not been for his brother's arm he surely would have fallen from the stairs. But Fili was, as he always had been, there to steady Kili when he was unwell. To help his brother when it was needed. With little more difficulty they were able to reached the water just as Legolas and Bofur were readying the boat.

"Where's our da?" they heard a small voice ask. It was Bard's youngest, Tilda, her scared eyes wide and expectant. All turned to the pair of brothers who were the last to see him. Kili's heart wrenched at the questioned stares of the three frightened children. He opened his mouth to answer but Fili spoke first. Kili was grateful for he didn't fully know what to tell them.

"He's going to kill the dragon," Fili said gently in a voice full of calm hope. One Kili recognized from when they were young. He used it when Kili was injured or frightened. When they accidentally caught their mother crying and wanted to soothe her in the early years following their father's death. And even when Thorin would come to them after a particularly difficult day at the forges exhausted. This was the voice he used when he wanted to easy pain. It was so like Fili to just come right out with the truth. He was never one to skirt reality, as painful as it may be. It was a strength Kili admired in his brother. And strength he didn't have, or didn't exercise. He more often managed his way around difficult subjects always finding a way out.

"The beast can't be killed," Legolas insisted, "nothing can pierce its hide."

A whimper of terror came from the children.

"Our father's gone to die?" Sigrid whispered her eyes filling with tears.

"No, a black arrow can kill it," Kili said with verve.

"Has he one?" Bain asked as excitement and even pride filled his voice.

Fili confirmed with a nod, "He does."

"Then let's hope he doesn't miss," Bofur added as more of a statement than anything else as he glanced towards the sky.

"He won't," Bain promised, and no one disagreed. None wished to.

"We must hurry now," Tauriel told them as she climb in to the front of the boat. "Come children." They obeyed scurrying into the vessel. The rest moved to follow, all but Legolas.

"I leave you here."

"You're not coming?" Bofur was the first to ask.

"I will warn the town, make sure they flee to the water."

Fili felt his heart pull with guilt. He had thought of no one but himself and his company since Thorin had left them. A unmistakable obligation to guide as best he could those with him, those that would listen, bound him to protect this small group. He had given no thought to the people of Lake Town, or their endangered lives. Endangered because of his kin and his quest. Suddenly duties to care for them too stirred in him. His eyes looked to his weak brother, noticing Kili's still pale face and the dark pink skin under his eyes. He felt Kili at his side, and realized he was now holding most of his brother's weight. It was his family or duty he decided. And that choice was simple. But it wasn't really family or duty. And he knew it. It was his family or theirs. His family or so many. That choice was much harder, but the answer so clear.

"I'll go too," he told Legolas, giving Kili an apologetic glance.

"No, stay with them," Legolas insisted. But the way his eyes lingered on Tauriel meant that his demand was a plea. It meant he had a more selfish reason for the request.

"I can reach everyone quickly enough on my own. Keep them safe." He now glanced over the whole company of children and old and injured dwarves.

As guilty as it might ought to make him feel, Fili couldn't deny the relief he felt. He could stay with his brother, and was being asked to do it. Nodding at Legolas's request, Fili then watched him disappear into the town, much like the bargeman. Both with a job and purpose. And his, he decided, was to watch over those they had left behind.

"Fili, Kili, come on lads," he heard Oin call to them from the barge. And just as they moved to comply there was a noise, a noise like wind rushing thought trees and a bright, distant light growing in the sky of deep orange and red. From somewhere they heard a scream and the air around them turned warm. He couldn't be seen behind the shadow of his flame. But there could be no doubt. Smaug had come.

"Brother," Kili gasped in a tone of hushed awe and terror, "I see it, behind the fire."

Fire, soon there would be much of it.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this second chapter :) Please let me know what you thought! Thanks so much for reading and have a wonderful week.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm sorry that this update is a bit delayed because of Christmas. But here it is and I hope you enjoy :)**

 **Please let me know what you think. I would love and appreciate any and all feedback.**

 **I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas, and will have a wonderfully Happy New Year.**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (3) '** _ **Up in Smoke'**_

He had heard tales of dragons. Many. He had even seen them before in his dreams when he was young. An image created from all the stories filled with both rumors and truths, and formed by the drawings he'd seen, sketches done in times near and forgotten. Yet this was none of them. This surpassed all legends and myths. This overshadowed all he had ever dared to imagine, ignoring every sense of possibility he had ever known.

The first moment the dragon appeared in the sky Kili felt his heart jump under his ribs, leaping around in the empty space his stomach left when it had dropped. Disbelief raced into his widened eyes. And then quickly his uncertainty turned to fear as he wondered if he was dying. If the poison was yet in his body. If it was still effecting his mind. This could be nothing more than a sick delusion. The dragon was not so massive, was not so powerful, and was not so terrible in every way from its graceless wings and clawed limbs, to its flamed breath. The poison was toying with his thoughts, interweaving truth with illusion, and pulling him into dreams of the awake kind. He almost said as much, almost informed his brother that the venom was still swimming in his veins. There could be no other answer.

None but one. And it was too extraordinary to believe. Or nearly. He was either suffering delirium brought on by fever and toxin, or the dragon was all it seemed. And when it reached them, dropping over their heads close enough to see the smoke carried from its nostrils and the cold heat of morbid amusement in its hatred filled eyes he knew. Kili knew Smaug was every bit as horrid as he was raised to believe. Perhaps he should have felt some small measure of relief that he was no longing suffering the effects of poison after all. But he couldn't be when the alternative was just as lethal. If his first look at the dragon hadn't filled him with such alarm and fear, Kili was sure he would have found it amazing, in a way that shook his soul. In a way that lacked all joy. He might have been lost in his own wonderment at its strength and its might had those very things not terrified him so. What could it have been like, he wondered, the first time when the dragon fell upon Dale?

It had came in the late days of summer he'd been told. When the top of the forest that lay in front of them along the borders of Mirkwood, once called Greenwood, could be seen changing in color. Adopting a shade that varied from the bright orange hue of butterfly weed that grew in the meadows just outside Erebor's gate, to rosewood, honey, scarlet, and plum. When leaf fall could be smelled in the air that had assumed a sharp, clear quality only brought on by the coming of winter. At a time where when the days are at their hottest you felt the summer. And in the early hours of morning one could feel winter pushing, struggling to take a foothold. It had came when all was at peace, when all was as it should be. When there were no signs of warning save for a slowly growing greed inside the Mountain. But such things could not have foretold the ruin that came upon them.

This was in every way different. Never had Kili known a time of less peace and consistency in his short lifetime. Their whole journey abounding with perils and misfortune and foes. Each and every one a warning of this to come. They had been cautioned so numerously and by so many that Kili now wondered how they could have ignored such alarm. How had they not seen the same threats others had seen? But perhaps they had, and chose to overlook them in support of a more positive outcome. Because it all had to end in their favor. They hadn't prepare for any other outcome. Maybe they had believed if they did not acknowledge the most evident danger it would somehow cease to existence, as foolish as the very notion was. Perhaps it would fade away as it had faded to the back of the Company's minds. Or at least that's where most had alleged the thought resigned as they all pretended that the idea of a live dragon did not frighten them. And the aid of a wizard had surely help in adding to their confidence.

But now whether it had all been foolishly misplace or no did not change the fact that they had been faced with warning. They had even had to throw it out of their own way on occasion, climbing over it, crawling past it. Warnings had been obvious and so they could not be surprised. But the folks of Dale had not been warned. When the dragon first came did they even know Kili wondered? Did they know to fear him with a deep and fierce terror? Did they know what he could do, what he would do? Or did they marvel at his strength ignorant of the destruction he would bring?

There were songs. They all told of smoke that blocked out the sun and fire that robbed lives and wreckage that stole more when it was over. As embers burned in the morning light the air had filled with the cries of those mourning for the lost. But they had always been only heave words of dark times before. Only now could Kili understand them. He could see the red glow of flames in the sky and hear the screams of panic. He could smell the burning in the clear lake air and taste smoke clinging to the wind and feel the heat on his face. Only now did he understand that the songs where never about fire and dragons. They spoke of death and devastation. And they were not stories. Not tales from history of past horrors. They were a cry, a warning. And Kili understood too late. He wondered if the folks of Dale had known or if they watched and stared in wonder until it was too late? Until there was nothing but their death waiting for them.

He wondered, did it matter?

No, Kili knew. They might have fled at the first glimpse of dangers in the sky and it wouldn't have mattered. Smaug would still have came. Their death would still have came. As would he and his company's if they could not escape the descending inferno above them.

To their left he could see flames. Homes burning in the south of Lake Town. And the dragon was not ended. Again he was coming and again. Each time with a new mouthful of heat and pain. At times it was so close Kili could see the fire leaving Smaug's throat and bellowing between the rows of houses and escaping down the streets of water along their sides. Other times the heat forced his eyes shut against its immensity, allowing only the brightness that shone through his eyelids to reach him. And it was at those moments, when his eyes were closed that he really hear them. The screams. They came in every voice, from every mouth young and old. Some cried in fear, pure terror and panic. Some yelled because others yelled. Because there was nowhere to go. Because there was nothing they could do. Some shouted for help, begging for any aid, any favor. Those along the shore pleased for a seat on any passing vessel, swimming out to claim their place aboard this only hope. Some screamed in pain as they were killed, consumed in the flames and others screamed in despair as they watched; there was nothing they could do. Those cries, the sound of loved ones being lost and those weeping for them provoked Kili, pulling his eyes towards the Mountain.

Thorin was there, and the Company, alive or dead. There was no way of knowing. He wanted to believe that they were alive. That they could not be dead. He wanted to believe that somehow they had escaped the dragon's wrath and ruin. That Thorin had not led them all to their deaths. Not his friends, his kin, his family. He wanted to believe it. And he did. Or partly. There was a shred of him that knew the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had not perished in dragon fire, not after all they had survived. But he also knew that they had failed. The dragon was meant to be slain. It was never meant to be released on a peaceable town to kill innocence. They had failed. And so there was truly no way of knowing if they had managed to live or not. That thought shook Kili. Shook tremors through his body. His uncle could not be dead. He could not allow himself to believe that.

Thorin had hurt him, even Kili could not deny it. But now as flames rained down around them there was no amount of resentment or bitterness to be found. Not from Kili. Not when death was so near and so many knew they would not be given the chance to forgive again. Now only fear for his uncle and the lives of those so close to him sent air rushing in and out of his lungs faster than it should. And a sick sensation to form in his stomach. One that made it hard to breath, hard to focus on anything but the fear. Yet he knew if he was to outlive this attack he would have too.

The water beneath their vessel swayed as it moved with all the bodies struggling forwards safety and gave, pulling and pushing under the influence of the dragon's wings. Around him Kili saw movement everywhere. There was not a still body near save for a few motionless souls. Some were stood frozen in panic. Placed unmoved in fear. With their instincts dead to their terror, they didn't flee, didn't move but stood wide eyed in horror unsure of what to do or where to go.

But there were others. Some that did nothing but stare with no look at all on their faces. Refusing to flee. Resigned to their fate, to their death, waiting for it to come. Kili wondered what hardships life could yield that would lead them to just give up. To quit trying, fighting, battling for life. What scars must those people bare that could bring them to terms with their own death, to accept it as the final blow. What pain could drive the will to live out of them so completely that they would not lift even a foot in pursuit of life, that they would not lift a hand in defense against death. That they would stand there and do nothing else. Stand there like they welcomed it. Kili tried and failed to imagine a sorrow that could drag the desire to survive from him. Though given, he knew his experiences in life were limited. He had seen little of the grief accountable for those empty faces. He had seen little of much in fact besides joy in his short life. Perhaps there were reasons enough to bring some folks to a state of indifference or defeat so that they no longer had the will and strength to fight for any existence at all. Perhaps there were many. But Kili didn't know them and he could hope he never would. He would gladly remain ignorant of such things to maintain his affection for living.

Even aboard their small vessel there was chaos. All were in too rushed a panic to be still. The boat rocked with their movement enough at times to allow water over its sides causing pools of wetness at their feet. And there were bountiful obstacles to manage around. While the others used their arms to push floating obstructions from their path in the dark cool lake and occasionally coaxed the boat through the water with a cupped hand paddle, Tauriel was at the front of the barge maneuvering with the oar. She was perhaps the only one truly calm even if still frighten and performed her task among the disorder with a gentle grace and poise that spoke to the capability of her race and almost certainly the wisdom of her age. A youthful face could do little in hiding superior experience and judgment in the presence of such chaos. It was indeed a valued quality in these times and Kili welcomed Tauriel's calm manner despite its ability to magnify his own alarm, if only to himself. His mind was moving far faster than the she-elf's deliberate hands suggested, racing with fears and unknowns and pain.

For his leg still ardently protested his sudden activities. It ached still, deeply, and he wondered why even now he couldn't ignore it in the face of all the happenings around them. Reaching up to wipe his face Kili knew the collection of sweat covering his features was not only due to the heat of dragon fire but also the discomfort coming from his limb. He felt a grip on his shoulder and turned to face his brother, wondering if Fili had noticed the pained expression he was trying to conceal, or if he merely sought his sibling's comfort in a time of fear. From the appearance of Fili's face it could be either, or more likely both Kili decided.

There was so much noises everywhere, the pounding of fleeing feet, the splashing of lake water, the beat of Smaug's winds, the roar of fire, the screams and wails and screeches. So many voices coming from so many places, some echoing from the far parts of Lake Town across the water to reach them. So many sounds drumming in every ear, so many cries everywhere. So it came as a surprise that one more could make such a difference. Perhaps it was the closeness of the shout's owner that made them all turn towards her so quickly. But Fili believed it was the shock and urgency of the voice which spoke it that truly gained their notice.

"Da!" the youngest of their company yelled in a gasp twisted screech. Her small hand pointed and all eyes followed without urging.

"Da!" two other voices joined as soon as they had found the object of her focus. On a rooftop too far from them for the children's cries to be heard by their namesake was Bard, bow and black arrow in hand. He was doing his best to travel at speed Fili could tell, though it was difficult as many rooftops collapsed under his weight sending him dangerously close to falling. And the leaping and scaling he was doing could be no doubt exhausting. But it was clear he had a decided location to reach and only when Fili saw the dragon drop down on them yet again, coming only yards from the tops of the roofs did he learned where it was. The bell tower, now only near to a dozen houses in Bard's foreground, was a high enough vantage point. There was nowhere better to fire a shot. And with only one opportunity he needed the best chance he could find. Fili was not the only one to realize Bard's intended site. Bain too had noticed where his father was heading.

"I have to help him," he whispered to most entirely himself. It was heard by more than one of his companions, but only understood too late to stop him. The boy darted, leaping from the boat to another and then the shore before anyone could lift a hand to grab him.

"Bain!" his sisters screamed at his back. Fili lunged after him in a mindless attempt to save the boy from near certain death. But there was never any chance of reaching him and Fili only realized that after he'd been pulled back by Oin and Bofur.

"Let him go," Tauriel said staring after his figure as it disappeared into the shadows and flames. "We can not go back."

Fili heard Sigrid and Tilda whimper in fear and loss and he felt his heart break for them. First their father and now their brother was gone, lost in all likelihood.

There was nothing to be done to save Bain, still, Fili wished he could offer some aid, any. It was an empty feeling, doing nothing. And he guessed it was that very feeling that had forced Bain to action. It seemed the boy would face probable death to help his father. The notion was not a foreign one to Fili. He had known from a young age, even a time scarce of most dangers and threats, that there lived some he would die to protect. Still, the thought stirred sentiments in his heart, probing memories distant but fond. His own father had died young by any race's standards, gone too soon, taken too early from his sons' lives. Fili had memories of his father, a gift Kili had been denied. But they were few and long ago.

Bain was racing after his father into a wake of ruin and many would call it foolish. But Fili wondered what he and Kili would have done to save their father. If they could have. Which they could not. They had been given no control over the events that had stolen their father from them. And had been so young at the time that even now all they knew of the ill fated day were from the censored stories they'd been told as children. When they had grown and the full truth would have been give to them had they ask for it, they did not. Neither desired to hear in detail their father's end. They instead held to the death their child minds had created, so valiant and honorable that only a young one's imagination could form it. Their father deserves as much. And so to them his death would always be remembered as even braver and more noble than any could truly be.

They knew he was killed in war, felled in a battle that was later won. But his dear family had lost. They had lost so much. Fili wondered what he and his brother would have done to save their father. To get the chance to grown up with him there. To see him smile at their mother. To hear his tales. To see the joy that used to glow in his eyes. To hear his voice, his laugh, his instructions, and his scoldings because they both knew they deserved more than their mother gave them. And to see the pride on his face when he looked at his sons and saw all that they had become because their mother had told them often that he would have been proud. Proud of them, proud of his boys she would say. But it was always in her own words. A promised pride from a voiceless soul. And though they so valued their mother's love and her doting, they both would have given so much to hear it from him. If only once. As he watched Bain hurry to his father's aid Fili wondered what he and Kili would have done to save their's if they only could have. Anything, he guessed.

He looked at his brother, finding Kili staring at him already and wondered how many of his thoughts he shared with his sibling. Probably more than he realized. But he was more certain Kili was watching him to see how many fears not could-have-beens they shared.

And he was certain that Kili was finding many.

Because Fili was indeed afraid. There might have been a time when he would have been hard pressed to admit it. But he was not too shy of the emotion anymore. It had been a faithful companion of his on more occasions during their journey then he'd care to confess. He was afraid now. And for better reason than even he knew. He did not see the lurking gray shadows trailing on shore alongside them when first they could have been spotted. He didn't notice their increasing number gathering in the darkness as they traveled surprisingly quietly, waiting for their opportunity. He didn't observe this threat in the shadows cast by the one overheard. He didn't see them from in the center of the uproar around him. No one did. Not until it was too late to escape their next misfortune, as unexpected as any could be.

One moment they were traveling through the town in as much peace as any could find in a time such a this - they were mostly undisturbed - and the next they were attacked. Ocrs came pouring down to the water's edge weapons in hand. They had regrouped somewhere just far enough away to be unseen, recovered what strength they had left, and then reorganized a second ambush all while Fili and his small company had been fleeing a dragon's breath. The shock that found a voice in their surprised gasps and shouts was the least of their plentiful worries. The unprepared state of their little company was strikingly similar to the first attack, and this bout they were even fewer. To their favor, however, their enemy had also fallen significantly in number, now only being just over a dozen. But Fili knew his group's position on the water added to their disadvantage. The orcs had free use of the land and space surrounding the barge while Fili and his fellows were trapped aboard the vessel.

Only orcs would be single-minded and ignorant enough to race back into dragon fire simply to fulfill a seemingly gainless task Fili noted with bitterness.

They had their weapons laying close on the boat's floor, and so with a single reach had armed themselves. It was amazing how grateful Fili found himself for the crude weapons when they were the very same ones he and the others at scoff at only a day ago. It spoke to both the way time was so steadfast to changes things, sometimes rapidly. And how often blessings are belittled and cast aside, deemed unwanted but those that failed to immediately see their worth. So often good fortunes are cloaked in disguises that resemble disappointment and pain. Now those too crude and even odd weapons where their very lifeline, and none could be found ungrateful for them.

With nowhere to go they had little room to spread out, but each took a post as their own with no choice but to stay their ground. Legolas was gone, as was Bard and his son so there was no question that Kili had to fight now. This worried others more than himself, for Kili knew he could not sit back and do nothing. It was not within his good conscious and will. Immediately he took his spot beside Oin towards the back. Bofur and Fili stood at each side and Tauriel at the front with Sigrid and Tilda in the center where the elder was wrapped around the younger, shielding her as best she could.

Ocrs came from both sides, some having to tread through the water to reach them where it was too wide to leap from the shore or other vessels. This attack was different then the first in that each time the enemy became overtaken they could retreat back away from the boat then come again so that by the time Kili had lost all since of time they had only slain three. He guessed by the unchanged circumstances around them, fire still falling from the dragon's mouth, and constant screams in every place that it couldn't have been very long, perhaps much shorter than it seemed. But still long enough that he had lost count of how many times the same few orcs had come at him and fallen back when he was so near to striking them. He could see from the stolen glances to his side that the rest of his group were not fairing much differently. Each was having trouble, making little progress and they were all trapped on the boat with no way of fleeing.

It took all of Kili's focus to even maintain his effort. So that when his trained eyes caught movement in the sky and he forgot himself to watch it he nearly cost himself greatly. If the orc directly at his front hadn't paused his attack as well to follow Kili's stare, whether worried or merely curious, it would have brought Kili's death with a blow sudden and unseen. But it was just as captured by the large black arrow rotation through the sky towards Smaug, whose breath was readied for another strike, to take advantage of his opportunity. The dragon was in fact aimed for the very bell tower Kili had seen the Bargeman and his son hastening towards earlier with his chest exposed to the coming weapon. It struck only moments after Kili's first notice, hitting its mark swift, straight, and true. Unlike all the rest this one did not bounce back, repelling off the dragon's hide with a stubborn refusal to complete its task. This one buried into the drake's flesh, disappearing into the fire glow within its body and drawing a noise, an ugly toned screech from its throat.

"He hit it," Kili shouted only barely able to control his excitement. "The arrow hit its mark. I saw it." he cried looking about at his companions searching for belief in their faces. They had all heard the shriek the moment it had sounded and did not need to be convinced of what had happened. But they could not pause their combating as he had, and Kili suddenly becoming reacquainted with the attack happening around them.

His attention was draw back to the threat before him so that he could only watch with brief glimpses the dragon dying. The light fading inside him. His wings thrown out at his sides in a desperate attempt to remain airborne. His tongue reaching from his month with a hiss of pain and rage. Kili could only watch from the edge of his sight as Smaug fell. His figure twisting through the air as he dropped. The fire grow forever leave his body. The dark mass as in descended from the sky and hit the lake with a splash that reached their boat. He watched with quick glances as the water stilled and the ripples died along with the dragon that caused them. Smaug was dead.

Had the small group not still been fighting for their lives they would surely have rejoiced. As it was they could not let their delight tame their bodies and inhibit the fighting they were force to continue even now when they should be allowed a moment's rest and a relief filled breath. They had earned as much. But they could not and so each celebrated in silences, save for a hoot of pleasure from Bofur, that the dragon was dead, gone from their live forever. Each heart bursting with gladness but bound to remain there contained and controlled for the sake of their lives.

They were not the only ones glad to be ride of the dragon's wroth. The orcs, who were more certain of success now that they did not have to compete for their enemy's lives press in harder. They no longer had to keep a wary watch over head. The dragon, Kili realized, had been both their foe and ally. Smaug had been their only aid in keeping the orcs cautious and timid and now that small favor was gone.

He had no more time to ponder their misfortune as the boat rocked, jerking behind him and it was only his leg jammed into the wood on the side of the barge that kept him out of the dark liquid below. Only his leg sore and with an injury still new enough to bleed dark red crimson. It could not hold him. Not his weight, not with the pain wrenching through the muscle and down his limb.

He fell. His hand groping the air for any hold did nothing to help him. Nothing but warrant his brother's attention.

Fili saw Kili fall into the air, his bask rushing towards the water. But he could not reach him. He could not save him. The young prince sank into the water, being swallowed by the cool smooth liquid as he felt it reaching over every part of his hot body. His head fell under the surface and noise grew quiet in his ears. It was calm under the top of the water when cast against the struggle above. Sounds were stretched to reach him. And he could see the blended haze of fire colored hues shinning over his head across the lake surface now just a heatless light form which he could see the shadows above and the darkness below. For a moment it was calm and painless and peaceful as water filled his ears and twisted around his fingers. Every tired part of Kili wanted to stay there. Begged to remain where his body was still and not rousing aching exhausted muscles. Where there wasn't roaring noise and hot air and where for a precious moment he was safe. Or seemed to be. But the feeling was weak beside his impulse to fight and fleeting against his need to protect. Kili broke the surface and the noise returned. Warm air rushed to fill his mouth with his deep gasps and wet dark hair fell into his eyes.

He felt hands on him. Not gentle hands drawing him out of the water. But rough hands snatching and grabbing at him.

The orcs could not slaughter Thorin Oakenshield and his company as they had intended. But a dwarf prisoner could pacify their greed and amend their failure to some level. It would not leave them empty handed and defeated. And so they snatched at Kili with hungry hands.

He fought them, struggling against their hold until he broke out of their fingers and reached the barge. Grasping on to the edge of the wood he reeled himself up against the side and clung desperately as he fought exhaustion and panic both. He could see the legs of his companions in the boat moving and feel their steps rock the vessel as they fought. He didn't need to look up to their faces to know who each was or to know that it was his own brother fighting right in front of him just out of reach.

And long before he had collected enough strength to heave his weary body up to safety they had his again, pulling at his arms and torso and clothes and hair. His fingertips burned as they became the only thing still holding him to the barge's edge. Kili knew the very same moment his fingers could no longer hold him there he would be dragged away with no power to stop it. His tired legs kicked pointlessly, and his weapon was gone, sank to the dark lake bottom to share its fate with the dragon. He had dropped it when he fell and now cursed himself for his foolish mistake. One that would cost him. In a moment that happened without him knowing just when his hands slipped. One second his was still clinging with a desperate need to the barge and suddenly he was not.

"Kili!" a panicked voice shouted and he couldn't answer when his mouth filled with lake water. But a hand, much the same in shape and size as his own, reached to him. It matched his very much in feel too Kili knew from experience. It wore similar calluses and bore similar scars. He knew that hand. He had felt it's warm and comfort since his earliest memories. He knew if he could reach it now he would be saved. But he could not. So instead he lifted his eyes to its owner's face. Fili, whose entire body was stretched over the water in an effort to reach him looked scared. His flushed yet paled face was drawn. His outstretched fingers and breath shaking. And the shade of his eyes was one Kili hadn't seen before. One of dark blue so foreign to the calm gentleness they always worn that Kili didn't recognize them. He didn't recognize the panic, the terror and desperation that burned so clear, so bright in Fili's eyes. He had never seen it before. Not from his older sibling, not from the one who was always so unbelievable strong.

His brother's eyes filled with fear and shinning dark blue in stark contrast to the fire light were the last things he really saw, or was sure he saw as he was dragged away, never able to reached the outstretched hand quivering and straining to reach him. And as he was pulled with the fleeing orcs, struggling and fighting and being jerked in and out of the cool water ever further away from his kin Kili suddenly realized he shared the fear that had darkened Fili's eyes. He felt it squeeze his heart. He suddenly realized he had every reason to be scared, every reason to be frightened beyond measure as he was being taken by orcs. And he could feel panic and terror climbing up his throat and blood pounding in his ears all but drowning the one sound he could still hear, his brother screaming his name.


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's chapter four. Hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think :)**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (4)** _ **'Always a Step Shy'**_

Once, when he was young, Fili had almost drowned. He had held his breath for too long underwater trying to reach the bottom of the lake he and his family were enjoying swimming in. When his body finally demanded air and he tried to make his way back to the surface, he couldn't reach it. His lungs cried for a breath and his muscle fought to get it. But there wasn't any. Not caught in the liquid between sand and sky. It hurt. Even though his was young he could remember the pain in his chest and feeling his eyes burn. He wasn't sure if he had cried because he couldn't feel the tears but it hurt enough, and he was afraid enough to. Afraid of dying.

His father had saved him, pulling him back to the surface and onto ground. Fili had laid on the shore of the lake breathing. For a few timeless moments that's all he could do. He couldn't hear. He couldn't feel. He couldn't move. He couldn't even think. All he could do was breath. Air coming and leaving his mouth. Just breathing.

Again, now it was all he could do. He was watching, through horror filled eyes and with a dry mouth opened in shock, as Kili was being dragged away from him with the orcs and all he could do was breath. This time though he wasn't drowning. He felt as if he'd been struck with a blown that pressed all the air from his lungs. He was struggling to recover. Struggling to respond. Struggling to react.

 _React_. He had to do something. The thought sparked a flame inside him. A fire that burned with a fierce protective devotion to his family. A blaze alive with commitment to kin and a jealous possessorship of their safety. The flames breathed through his limbs finally moving him.

Fili leapt from the barge and felt the cool lake rush around his body before his mind could follow him. Splashes leapt at his face and attacked his eyes and mouth as he struggle forwards completely ignoring the shouts at his back. They were trying to ensnare him with reason, attempting to stop him before he went crashing passed the border between trying and failing. But it didn't matter because he couldn't hear them, his group. He could hear their sounds, the different pitch of different voices and the varying degrees of desperation in them. But he didn't know what they said or what they told him not to do. Nothing could stop his panicked fueled efforts to save his brother, what ever the cost. Even had he a moment to think and consider how unlikely the chance that he could rescue Kili when he was so outnumbered and in the water he still wouldn't have hesitated. It didn't matter. He could be rushing with opened arms to immediate and inescapable failure only to be crushed by its embrace and that knowledge still wouldn't stop him. Even a rational warning that he would be cut down before he ever reached Kili was ignored. One purpose, one goal controlled him at that moment and nothing, no thought, no reason, no logic could argue it away.

He swam, fighting towards his brother who was getting hopelessly further away with each second. It didn't seem to matter how fiercely he kicked and clawed at the water it would not move him quickly enough. He wondered bitterly if this was one of the few occasions in his life where his shortened height would be his grand weakness. The orc scum could already touch the lake bottom with their feet and were more easily able to drag Kili with them. They had nearly reached the shore. Fili, however, was still impossibly far from being able to run through the water rather than swim. In normal circumstances that advantage alone was enough in their favor. But with all the boats still in the water rocking and creating numerous flows and currents to contend with, it was an advantage that could make the different between Fili being able to overtaking them or not.

All his life he'd been assured that his height in no way made him lesser or inferior. And that it should never be a deciding factor in any circumstance because it was not a weakness or crutch. He'd always been told that his height should never be mistaken as a disadvantage by his enemy or himself. And he'd believed it. Every word when he was young. He had no reason to doubt the words of his elders, those he loved and respected. And he had no desire to handicap himself with negative and untrue beliefs about his size. He wasn't a weak victim of birth, born to a race of substandard ability. He was born to a strong and nobly house, to an honorable family with great pride for their heritage and love for their race. And Fili had been raised to share all of their sentiments. But he was neither foolish or naive. When he grew older he had realized that, despite all that he'd always been told, there were indeed times when his height was a weakness. Of course it was. They shared their world with other races of greater stature and different strengths. It was only natural that there would be times when it was be gainful to be taller.

Now of course was one of them. And if Fili had ever despised the height of dwarves, it was as he struggled to reach and saved his little brother. He could see Kili being jerked about, repeatedly falling under the water then gasping as he was yanked back out again. The few seconds he had above surface were spent drawing a much needed breath. He never had a chance to yell before he was dropped back under. Until finally he did and Fili felt his heartbeat wane.

"Fili!"

The word, his name, cried out in his brother's voice sent ripples of pain through him. Physical pain squeezing him, crushing him, stabbing him. Fear and guilt and an agonizing panic. The single word was so overwhelmingly frantic and desperate and coming from Kili's lips that Fili faltered. The sound of his brother's plead for help was such a painful one that his body responded. His muscles tightened and his heart seemed to jerk in his chest. It wasn't until Fili felt water touch his mouth that he realized he'd stopped swimming and was sinking into the lake.

 _React._ Hecouldn't help Kili if he didn't first reach him. Fili again willed his body to move, to fight toward his brother.

But his lungs burned, and his eyes burned. And he realized that there was smoke, so much of it, everywhere. Some was being pulled up into the sky and lazily blowing safely away from them. But much of it was hanging over the surface of the lake around him. It was thick and heavy. So much so that Fili wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed before. He could taste it in his mouth and feel its weight in his breaths as it moved down his throat. He realized the air around his was gray and unclear and that at their current distance the orc pack had become a bit faded and vague in the smoldering drafts.

And that was how Fili watched, through a haze of clouded smoke, as Kili was taken. As he was dragged to the shore and carried kicking and struggling and yelling away from him faster than he could follow and further and further until his face became too distant and blurry to see and he was not but a dark form in the gray air moving and fighting until he disappeared.

And Fili could never reach him.

The realization came slowly, washing over him painfully. Like cold water dripping down his back chilling him to the bone and sinking into his stomach like a weight that would drag him with it. The very idea took his breath and slowly filled him with horror and dread as it built in his chest. He wasn't going to save Kili. As he looked towards the empty place his brother had just disappeared from it dawned on Fili, second by second, that he wasn't going to be able to reach him.

From the minute he had jumped into the lake in pursuit of the orc pack, it hadn't occurred to Fili that there was a chance he wouldn't reach Kili. That he couldn't. The thought hadn't raced through his mind. Not for a single fleeting second. It was too unthinkable an idea to consider. Too horrid a thought to entertain for even a moment. So he hadn't. It had not once occurred to him that he would fail in saving his brother. Now that sudden understanding absolutely gored him. Like a blade plunged into his gut spilling his strength and will.

Reaching the shore, he finally stumbled onto the bank heaving violent breaths that came as much from his panic as exhaustion. He almost fell to the ground, almost sank to his knees in hopelessness. But even as he nearly dropped into the puddle at his feet he felt a hot flame burning inside him, refusing to let him fall.

 _React._ He could not just give up on his little brother.

So he breathed, drawing a long steadying deep breath and ran, chasing after Kili's captors. But with each moment, each step, he couldn't quiet them. The feelings of more dread building in his throat and more panic rising in his chest. Because he knew. In his heart he knew he was getting no closer to Kili. And while he races as quickly as he tired body allowed through the burning wreckage and crumbed ruins the dragon had left he felt terror climb in him until every heartbeat drummed with it. Each step grew less stable as his muscles trembled with exhaustion and his breath became more labored and his hands shook in fear and his strength wavered with uncertainty. Doubt and panic and dread grew inside of him. Growing ever stronger, ever tightening it's grasp on him. With each step there was more. With each second that he couldn't reach Kili, couldn't even see him any longer, it swelled. Until finally it all crashed, descending around him with burning timber and the inflamed skeleton of a destroyed home.

The house had collapsed right in front of him, some of its stray beams barely missing his body. With a groan that rivaled that of the dragon's and a generous bellow of smoke it had fallen to the ground, with what had been the building's roof reaching all the way to the lake's edge. It laid before him in a heaping crumbled pile of fire and disheveled scattered boards creating a near impossible obstacle to wade through.

He was lucky, and perhaps he should have been thankful for his fortune. A few steps more and he would have been buried by the burning timber, injuring and trapping him at best and delivering a painful death at worst. But he wasn't grateful. Not in the least. He was ready to curse the fortune that saved him. Up to that point it had given him nothing worth celebrating. One ill stroke of luck after the next. And Fili wasn't ready to forgive fate for all it had dealt him in the last hour simply for a single favor. Even now as he stood alive and well mere feet from his would-be grave it was all he could do. Just stand there. Because fate hadn't denied the chance to offer him one more blow. For with the fallen home reaching to the water's edge, and the other end back into the remainder of the burning town, Fili was trapped. Trapped on the wrong side of the rubble. Trapped from being able to reach Kili.

With the house's collapse so collapsed the last of Fili's fortitude and strength. His determination and will were gone, his efforts pointless, and his faith lost. The last hopes he had of reaching his brother died right there before him. Kili was gone. No poorly constructed self lies could convince him otherwise anymore. Will enough could no longer maintain his beliefs that he would save Kili. No delusions could reawaken hope now. And telling himself it wasn't true did no good. Kili was gone. He couldn't reach him. He could not save him.

Of course Fili knew he could go around the ruins. He could certainly pick his way around the sides of the fallen home. Or wade through the debris managing past the flames with enough caution to come out the other side intact. But it would take too long. It would be too late. The orcs, along with his brother, would be long gone. He knew that. In fact he had no doubt about it. Because in his heart he had known before the building's fall that he was too late. He knew now there was absolutely no chance of reaching them. The orcs would drag Kili across the one bridge connecting Lake Town to land and then they would be gone. Truly gone.

Fili sank, with his heart, to his knees. His breaths were long, deep and desperate. And it was quiet. There where screams all about him, shouting and cries. People were moving, racing around him. And fire burned still in most of the town, roaring and cracking and popping. But to him it was quiet. His thoughts were quiet. In that moment he couldn't think. All he could do was feel the grief in his body. And he realized that the painful twisted, aching knots and sick feeling in his stomach was worry. But not mere worry. He was afraid for his brother in every possible way. His concern shook him, his body trembled in distress. He was upset, wrecked, and his eyes burned with unshed tears shinning in his terror filled orbs. He was tortured in his fears for Kili, pained in every way body and soul. It was not a weak, fleeting or even fading mood. It was a deep and violent and overwhelming reaction. One that would settle into a lasting feeling. One that would only grow.

He could feel he and his brother's distance stretching as it grew. As if everything in Fili was being dragged away with the orcs and yet was left trapped within his body on the wrong side of the flames pulling him apart.

 _Flames_ , they were burning inside him, breathing with desire to keep safe, to protect, and now to save. He could feel their heat licking at his heart. ' _Don't give up on him'_ they whispered. Him, Kili. Whom Fili had decided to stay behind in Lake Town to be with. Whom he had decided he would never abandon at that moment when he saw his little brother's face grimacing with devastated hopes and broken dreams more painful than the poison he had hid so well. He would not abandon Kili now. Not while there was still life in him to fight with and hope enough to drive it.

He might not be able to overtake his brother's captors, but he could follow them. He could pursue them until they stopped and he was able to save Kili. It was not a good plan by any stretch of the imagination. It was by no means a sound effort free of risk. And it certainly lacked proper consideration. But it was a plan. A chance at saving Kili. And what's more it was hope. Enough to vanish, no matter how temporarily, the despair that threatened to cripple him and stir the embers inside him to action again.

Fili staggered to his feet, heaving his aching body up from his knees where they had gladly buried into the mud content to remain still. He was tired. And if his body had things its way it would refuse to move. The thought crossed his mind that Kili was, no doubt, tired too. No doubt exhausted and spent far more than his elder brother. He was the one, after all, who was struggling to free himself from enemy hands and while recovering for an illness that had mere hours ago robbed him of every sign of life save for his breath. And even that was a fragile thing. One which had all too nearly failed more than once. But Fili neither wished to dwell on the painful likelihood of his brother's suffering, nor needed to in order to will his body forwards. Kili's calls for help echoing through his mind were enough.

Gathering what strength and resolve he had left, Fili began the tedious and dangerous task of finding a way around the languished home, his racing heartbeat and trembling hands reminding him that he did not have time to spare. The further he let Kili get from him the more likely, he knew, he would fail. He had to hurry through a task which required no small degree of caution and care to remain unharmed. He knew that the two notions did not coexist well, speed and caution. He had to chose which he would follow. And it wasn't a question. Not one to be consider for more than half a second once he realized a decision had to be made. He had no hesitations in throwing caution and his own safety to the wind and pursuing after Kili with the speed he knew success required. He worry and desperation allowed no less. So he moved more quickly than he should and tried his best to ignore the nagging thoughts that it still wasn't fast enough.

He paid for his haste though when only a few steps into the fire lit debris he tripped, catching himself on his hands. Only one of the two was able to completely miss the burning timbers ready to break his fall. Only one didn't land in fire, his weight pressing the unlucky limb into the heat. Hissing in pain and frustration Fili yanked his hand out of the flames and immediately saw the white blisters on the callused palm of his left hand. It hurt. A constant pain biting as his skin and searing under it. But it was his hand, not both, not his face, not his legs. So he didn't delay to rise again, committed to his tasked with every bit of determination he held. Perhaps if he wasn't so panicked, so desperate, so very fanatic it would have been different. Maybe the pain would have been more overwhelming, maybe even too overwhelming. Possibly his exhaustion would have proven to be too much. Perhaps even an ounce of reason would have been able catch him, to slow him down, to make him think. Maybe it would have been different, but it wasn't different. And so Fili could only be thankful for the adrenaline he was certain was helping him stand again, ready to press on.

But he was stopped, by a hand on his arm rather than its owner's voice shouting behind him. Indeed he couldn't hear anything, nothing coherent anyway in his hysterical thoughts.

"Fili, wait."

"Let go," the price roared not caring to register what voice had spoken to him or taking the time to look. It didn't matter because he wasn't going to listen. "I have to…" he tried and wasn't able to finish, the words dying in his mouth as their meaning dogged his efforts to share them. He had to what? Reach Kili? Rescue him? Keep him from being killed? It was more than that. He had to keep his promise to their mother. He had to live up to every expectation he had set for himself throughout their shared childhood and more recently their quest. He had to protect the life he relied so heavily on for his own happiness and wholeness. And yet it was more than even that, though Fili couldn't name it all.

He then tried to rip his arm free of the nameless impeder's grip and succeeded, only to be caught around his shoulders by a firmer grasp.

"Lad, stop it. You can't do this," The intruder demanded again. This time Fili recognized Bofur's voice immediately and had only a second to wonder how quickly the toymaker must have followed him to have caught up so quickly, before he was yanked backwards with enough force to pull him a good few paces away from the debris he'd tried to wade through. Stumbling to catch his footing Fili growled in rage, prompting the older dwarf to loosen his hold until he was only gently restraining the nearly crazed prince. He didn't remove his hands though, ready to seize the boy again if needed.

"I have to get to him," Fili whispered, his voice so weak from smoke and emotion he knew Bofur wouldn't have been able to hear him. Jerking out of the older dwarf's arms Fili spun to face him "I have to get to him." This time the shouted words were full of all the fury and panic Fili could feel building in his throat threatening to choke him.

Bofur wasn't intimidated by Fili's rage, or didn't show it. "Not this way," his hat bounced slightly as he shook his head to reinforce his point. "You'll be killed.

He didn't care. Fili's first thought was that he didn't care if his efforts to save his brother killed him. It wasn't true of course. Aside for the fact that his death would mean immediate failure on his part and death to Kili, he wasn't at all as ready to die as the thought alleged. He wasn't nearly as immune to morality's dark fears as the notion suggested. Still, it was enough to shake away Bofur's argument without giving it proper thought.

"Kili will be killed," Fili countered. "Didn't you see? The orcs have him." He added that last part, as if the fact could have been missed by any one of his company. His entire body shook with emotions in more quantity and depth than he'd ever felt.

"And they're probable taking him right now to a larger pack. There could be more of 'em waiting, gathered just off shore. We'd be slaughtered before we have a chance to held Kili at all."

We. Was Bofur saying he'd go with him? It occurred to Fili for the first time that the toymaker had most likely jumped from the barge with the intent of rescuing Kili same as himself, not simply to thwart him efforts. But again Bofur's argument was ignored. Fili didn't care to consider what could happen to them. Though this time he couldn't deny the guilt he felt for being so willing to throw away not just his own life, but Bofur's also.

"We don't know that," Fili fumed. "The sooner we reach them the greater our chances." Even as he argued in favor of his brother's rescue he couldn't silence the quiet cries shouting in the back of his mind. Time. He didn't have time for this.

Bofur's face drew in disagreement. "They have wargs," he said quietly, his expression clearly showing that he found no pleasure in having to contest everything his young price said, or the implications behind it. He was trying to convince Fili not to pursue Kili even though it went against every one of his own instincts. "Even if there aren't more orcs nearby, they'll join up with more soon enough no doubt. They'll be on wargs, we won't be able to overtake them. By the time we catch up there will be too many. We'll all die. Kili too. He'll be killed in the skirmish."

Fili did care. Greatly. The thought of Kili dying pained him beyond measure. And it pained him further still that Bofur was right, and he knew it. It wouldn't matter how hard he tried if Kili was slaughtered during a poorly planned rescue attempt regardless of how well indented it might be. He would be no less dead. Avoiding his younger sibling's death was the very reason for Fili's frantic efforts. The very reason his heart pounded uncontrollably in his chest. The reason for the pain that had swelled up inside him. And the reason for his quivering limbs.

"You're saying we should just let them take him?" he nearly whispered, not truly able to believe it himself. The very idea made his breath thicken with emotion.

"Of course not," Bofur refuted, his eyes clouding with what appeared to be a look of concern and Fili had to remind himself that Bofur, of all people, cared about Kili too. It was no secret that the jokester of the Company held a soft stop for their youngest member. Kili, who was not only the one most likely to join him in any array of antics befitting their shared manners of entertainment, but also had quite his own reputation for what they would both consider fun. Jokes, pranks and mischief that rather often riled their companions. Kili, who was always eager to add to one of Bofur's stories which were always just too unlikely to be believed. Yes, Bofur certainly cared, more than most remembered to give him credit for in part because of his ever forthcoming jokes and laughing smile. "But we need to join the others first."

The others? Fili glanced at the other dwarf's face, finally pulling his eyes away from the direction his brother had last been seen where he'd unconsciously been staring, the unspoken question evident enough in the raise of his eyebrows.

"Thorin," Bofur was quick to provide an answer, "and the rest of course." Fili just stared at him. "We'll need all the help we can get," the older dwarf explained, watching the young prince's face closely.

"That will take…a day at least," Fili thought out loud, his voice just above a whisper. Bofur only nodded, knowing he had nothing particularly encouraging to offer. "That will take too long," Fili tried to argue, his voice, rising with his own doubts. "We can't," he shouted, hoping he sounded stronger and more final than his unsteady legs and shaking hands reveled.

Bofur could only watch through sad eyes as his young friend was bowed lower and lower under what was nothing short of crushing. "We haven't any other choice," he spoke quietly, miserably, not any more pleased than his companion by their lack of options.

Fili felt his strength and spirit leak out of his body, slowly, more leaving his mouth with each of his sucking breaths. And he felt a calm yet deep, aching dread and desperation take its place. He knew Bofur was right. They didn't have any other choice.

His eyes were once again drawn to the smoke filled spot where he had last seen Kili. It was empty, still empty. Kili was gone. His stomach twisted in a painful effort to block his newest emotion from surfacing. It could not. Loss. He felt it take a hold of him, a strong firm grasp.

He nodded slowly, barely, as he finally relented to Bofur's plan. Even still, his surrender came as he spoke again.

"We don't have that time. _He_ won't have that time," Fili barely whispered. It wasn't a protest this time, but a worry. A fear that filled his stomach, that paused his breath, that climbing into his heartbeat where it would remain, close and always constant so as not to be forgotten. There could not be that much time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (5)** _ **'Troubled Hearts, Fearful Souls'**_

Fili could hardly wait for daybreak. That's when he'd been promised they would depart for Erebor. He could scarcely hold his emotions in check, barely will his body to remain calm, and only just keep his fears at bay. It was nothing short of a torturing struggle, and it was only the agreement that they would leave for the Lonely Mountain at first light and the assurance that it was their only option that kept him from abandoning his company and all reason to leave immediately.

He hadn't wanted to wait, and had augured against it the moment the idea was suggested. But the dangers of departing right away had been pointed out and Fili had been forced to accept them as true rather than agree, and in the end it had been decided, reluctantly, that they would wait until dawn. Fili hadn't listened with welcoming ears as Bofur, and later Oin once he had joined them, told him that his search for Kili would have to be delayed for the night, that the risks of trying to reach the Mountain in darkness weren't worth the time they would save. He had been angry, had yelled, insisting that they were spending far too much time already in joining Thorin first. He had fumed, claiming that to wait meant setting their own safety over Kili's who was more likely to be harmed with each second he was gone. But finally he had agreed, because they were right. If Fili had been anything shy of convinced that there was no other option but to wait in Lake Town for the night, he would have set off without a second thought to his companions' worries or warnings. But, as they had reminded him, he was no use to Kili dead or close to it and so had, for that reason alone, agreed to delay for a few hours.

He had watched as the sky turn from the steel blue of late evening to the black that stretches into the early hours of morning, and finally the gray that comes just before daylight with a mounting impatience that every moment threatened to unravel the last of his nerves and swallow the little composure he had somehow managed to maintain. It was a fragile thing, and hadn't come easily. It had taken no small amount of time to calm himself. Long enough that had it been a different time under different circumstances Fili would have been ashamed at his lack of self-control. As it was, he couldn't find it in himself to care. Time and soothing promises, no matter how empty they may prove to be, had finally calmed him. But his composure remained a delicate balance of need and exhaustion, teetering on the edge of his sanity. He could not allow himself to panic and his thoughts to wonder to frantic possibilities. It wouldn't do anyone any good. And his overall wariness, both body and mind, demanded he not exhaust himself further with his unguarded fears. He couldn't possibly ignore them, of course. Not even for a second. But he could control them, a little, and keep them from running wild in his mind. Every moment that balance was threatened, every moment it was ready to crumble with each untempered wave of doubts that attacked him. It was a tedious and difficult thing, fighting them. And he was forced to battle all night against his fears.

It had taken several hours to gather everyone on the shore of the Long Lake. Everyone still alive. The dead wasn't near as great a number as it would have been had Bard not slain the dragon when he did. But it was too many still. One didn't need to look far to find a body burned and scorched or some even drowned in the panic. They were scattered about, as if a reminder of the span and extent of Smaug's rage. It appeared that Legolas had made good on his promise to warn the people in time for them to escape to the water. Still, many were injured and it had taken some time to get everyone convened on the outer reaches of the town where they were safe from the devastation Smaug had wrought.

Fili had helped. He had pulled several folks out of the wreckage they'd been trap underneath. He'd carried hurt and weeping children to the safety of their parents' waiting arms, and had helped aid the injured as best he could. He had done his part, along with everyone else, joining in the efforts to save as many lives as possible. Yet he could scarcely remember helping when it was over. His thoughts had been elsewhere, distracted and distance. He had gone about his tasks with only as much focus as was absolutely needed. His body had worked with steady care while his mind had been anything but. And when finally everyone had been gathered, Fili welcomed the moment he could step away for a breath to gather himself.

Legolas himself did not return. Tauriel had insisted that he was well and did not join them only because he must have left. And only for good reason she had promised. Fili wasn't sure if she said so because she believed it, or because she wanted to. He hadn't missed the concern on her face as her worried eyes searched through the ruins for him at first. Only when she realized he woudn't be coming had she insisted that he was gone but safe. She told them that it wasn't uncommon for his to vanish without a word and return without one as well. Fili wasn't sure whether her words were of faith in her prince, or in hope of her friend's wellbeing. If either, still the truth was that she didn't know. She knew no more than the next if he was alive for certain. That he hadn't been claimed by the drake's breaths with the other. That he didn't now lie dead in the ruins. It was a heartbreaking thought and even in his own grief Fili felt sorrow at the possibility. In a few short hours he had grown to respect the elf that had helped save Kili and fight the orcs with them. He wished only good things for the elven prince and hoped that Tauriel was right. That for whatever reason he had left and yet lived.

Their other saviors were more fortunate. Bard and his son were among the last to reach the shore, but return they did. Fili had been both surprised and glad to see them. He'd had little faith that the bargeman would return to his children, and had been certain the boy would die when he went racing heedlessly into the flames after his father. Fili had witnessed the reunion of the small family with an equal measure of happiness and pain, the joyful tears he'd watched them share a bitter reminder that his own family was not there and he was alone in his misery.

The two responsible for saving them all had been greeted with such delight and praise by not just their family but all, and the bargeman had accepted their honor and thanks humbly. It had finally been he that suggested they all try to rest. There was no chance of salvaging any part of the town that the dragon had reached with his flames, and no attempting to search it until the fire died away. So they had all spread along the shore and found somewhere they could try to sleep among the sorrow that hung heave around them and the weeping that sounded from many grieving voices. Fili, with Tauriel, Bard's family, and Oin and Bofur, had settled down near a grouping of boulders a little ways down the beach. There had been no particular reason for them to remain together. Only that they all preferred the group's company to their own. They had stayed thus through the night trying to get what little sleep they could.

Fili hadn't slept though.

He hadn't wanted to sleep at first. His guilt was too heave, too thick. It wouldn't allow him to consider resting while Kili had no chance of it. While his little brother was in a worse state in every way. How could he in good conscience appreciate the very things Kili was being denied, by no fault of his own. By something no one would ever ask for. The thought was shaming. To lay down beside friends for the rest Fili knew they both were in great need of. He couldn't. Not at first. But as the hours had dragged by and the air for the first time all evening had turned cold his resolve had weakened. Finally his exhaustion won out over his guilt, encouraged by those insisting that he could better help Kili if he was rested, and he had laid his head down at last a bit too eagerly for his troubled conscience. But still he hadn't slept. It was no longer his guilt that kept it from him, but his mind, his thoughts and his worries. Each time Fili was sure sleep was close they came again, attacking him mercilessly. They had raced around his head probing at his deepest fears, conjuring his worst nightmares, and revisiting his most recent memories of Kili being taken from him. All of which completely denied his body's every effort to rest. Fili couldn't make them stop, though he tried desperately. They rushed through his thoughts and would have entered him dreams had he been able to sleep, refusing to quiet until finally he had given up.

He sat now, with his back supported against a stray stone away from his group and his face towards the lake, his stiff muscles proof of the hours he'd remained unmoved. Throughout the night he'd watched each of his companions fall in and out of sleep, most tossing to find what comfort they could and gladly taking what little sleep they were able. He'd watched Bard's young children collapse and not stir again for hours. Even Tauriel slept for a while. But Fili couldn't join them, and he'd found that his fears had no intentions of leaving him while awake either. As the dark skies gradually turned lighter Fili, unwilling to delay a moment longer than needed, watched the east sky, restlessly waiting for sunrise, and desperately trying to distract himself from his thoughts, though he could not.

He had tried to keep Kili safe. He had tried to protect those he loved and cared for. Throughout their entire journey Fili had been cautions and watchful, always ready to defend with his life his kin and friends from whatever happened upon them. He'd had fun too, joining in the occasion jokes and amusements and laughs . He'd never abstained from the group's enjoyments in the name of duty. But despite he frequent laughs and ready grin, he'd taken the quest and his place among it always seriously. He'd never let his games go too far. He'd never shied for his responsibilities. And he'd never let his guard down. Not because he lacked trust in his companions, but because he would not make the mistake of underestimating the trials and foes they were bound to face on such a journey. They had indeed faced many of them.

But his was a strong group Fili knew, and each member had done their part. Not one could be called inapt or coward, for no more reason then joining the quest at all. And it was more clear now than ever, after they had faced so much together, that not one member could be called weak. Especially Kili.

Thorin had been uncertain about Kili's place among the Company. His sister's son had been told all his life that he belonged in the Mountain Kingdom, that is should have been his home. He was second heir to the throne of Erebor, and by all standards had a right to go. But it wasn't Kili's lack of right that troubled Thorin. It was his lack of understanding. When Thorin looked at his youngest nephew he saw his strengths and his abilities. He saw every bit of the warrior they had raised him to be. But he also saw Kili's inexperience, his vulnerabilities. He saw his lack of maturity and caution. His heedless enthusiasm. His youth. Kili had no understanding of what he would face, only full belief that he was ready. And it was for those reasons Thorin had been unsure about Kili joining him.

Their mother had been concerned. She had known there were some that aged far beyond their years far too quickly. They took responsibilities of others and carried burdens that were not their's. Thorin had done that. He had, so young, taken the weight of Erebor to bare alone. And had carried that weight all of his life. It hadn't broken him though. Thorin was too tough, and too stubborn, to let it. In the end it had made him stronger, wiser, and, Dis could not deny, less happy. But when she looked at her youngest son she didn't see the young warrior that Thorin had been at his age. She saw her other brother, Frerin, all laughs and light. Some, like Thorin, were destined or forced to grow up too quickly and too completely. But Kili would never be one of them. She knew he, like Frerin, would always be young in his heart, would always be finding something to laugh about no matter his circumstances. She believed nothing would ever drive from him the bright light and joy he lived with. And she would never wish for it to go. She would never want him to be rid of it, ever.

But it had been Frerin that died. Not Thorin. It had been Frerin's laugh silenced for ever, not Thorin's wise words. It had been Frerin's shinning eyes, not Thorin's knowing ones that had closed to life. Her youngest so lacked the weight of responsibility that had made Thorin wiser and, perhaps, had kept him alive. Kili was so like her brother Frerin in so many ways. Her dead brother. And so Dis could not help but worry for her youngest son.

Yet, despite their uncle's doubts and their mother's worries, Fili, of all people, had known that Kili was not weak. He did not need to be shielded and watched after. He deserved the respect and trust that was due him, because he was as strong and capable a warrior as any could find. They had trained him to be. Fili would never say otherwise. He could never take Kili's skill away from him. For to do so would be to discredit all the hours, the effort and energy Kili had poured into his training. It would be to deny what was so clear. Kili was not weak. And he did not need anyone's protection, not even his brother's. Not normally.

But Kili had been sick.

That thought alone was enough to send Fili drowning in his guilt again. Enough to urge his heart to pound. And enough to make his stomach jerk at the reminder. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes in an effort to control his fears. Glancing out over the lake, where he'd been staring unseeing for hours, Fili could glimpse a breath of pink creeping into the sky giving way to the first signs of sunrise. It would not be much longer now, he reminded himself, again grasping demand of his emotions.

Kili had been unwell. He had been near death only hours before they'd been attacked. The morgal shaft that had wounded his leg and poisoned his blood had left him exhausted and hardly able to defend himself properly. If ever there was a time when Fili should have been there to watch over Kili, to help him, it was then. But he hadn't. Fili could neither deny nor escape the guilt that weighed upon him. The shame that hung from his shouldered. The remorse that pulled him apart. Kili had been sick and unable to defend himself. The blame wasn't his. The fault laid with those who should have protected him in his weakness. And for that, his failure, Fili knew he would never forgive himself.

He could hear his brother's shouts, his cries as they sounded through his thoughts. Kili had pleaded for help that Fili hadn't gave. And now the echo of his yells preyed on Fili, weakening his resolve and feeding his guilt. They resounded in his memory like phantoms from his past reminding him of all the times he'd hear those same cries from his brother. And all the times he'd failed to meet the needs behind them. This wasn't the first time Kili had asked for help and never received it.

Fili had never been perfect. And had indeed made his share of mistakes throughout his lifetime, as young and new as it still was. He had gotten too angry, had been too careless, had tried too little and had straight out fail before. And through life's injustice, in a way all too common, he wasn't always the only one who suffered for him mistakes. There had been times then, when Kili would at least in part, bare the consequences of Fili's mistakes. Times when Kili was affected by his brother's oversights. Times he had shrunk from Fili's anger. And times when he had suffered from Fili's negligence. But feeling the affects of other's mistakes was as much a part of life as making one's own mistakes along the way, especially when sharing life so closely. Kili had always extended forgiveness readily, for he had made plenty of his own. But thought Fili was never blamed for making the mistakes that all do, he always knew he could have prevented them. He could have spared himself and those around him if he had paid a little closer attention. If he had controlled himself more. If he had tried harder. But he wasn't perfect. And this wasn't the first time Kili had needed his help without receiving it. It wasn't the first time Kili had paid for his mistakes. Only the first time Fili was sure it might cost Kili his life.

The orcs would kill him, sooner or later. Fili had no doubt. There would be no reason to keep him alive infinitely. There could be no other outcome in mind for his little brother. It was well known that orcs didn't keep prisoners. Not for long anyway. They would torture their unfortunate victims, maim them, mock them, but never keep them once their pleasure was finished. Orcs felt no need to keep prisoners to waste away and die slowly. There was no satisfaction in that. And they lacked any mercy for other's lives. No compassion or even pity to compel them to spare their captives. Only a love for killing, and only after they made them suffer first. Fili had heard stories. Of the mangled bodies found, or the horrors told by the few that had ever succeed in escape the orcs' hands, though not before they had gotten a fair taste of the tortures that would had ended them quickly had they not fled. There could be no doubt, then, of Kili's intended fate. Not to Fili. However they would make Kili suffered, however they would torment and damage him, and however long they would make it last, the end would be the same. They would kill him.

Fili inhaled sharply, shaking as his panic began to resurface, the grief in the very idea nearly enough to make him loose what little control he had of his troubled emotions and the worried nausea in his stomach. He was afraid. And he'd never felt it before. A fear so consuming that it almost paralyzed him. Nearly kept him from even being able to pull air into his lungs. A terror that was so deep it ached inside him, in his chest, in his stomach, in his trembling limbs. A worry so whole that it filled his entire being leaving room for nothing else. If he couldn't save Kili in time he knew what would befall him. The orcs would make him bleed, and suffer, and scream in pain, and it would end one way, with Kili dead.

Those were the thoughts that kept Fili up through the night. Those were the consuming fears he struggled to suppress along with the tears trying to fall. They were the doubts he wrestled with. The dread he tried to silence along with his racing heart. The panic he worked to ignore along with the pain in his chest. The guilt he had to breath through. Those were the nightmares that keep sleep from his through the long and cold of night, and the chilled, empty hours that dragged by until they finally brought first light to the sky at long last.

 **O O O**

The journey to the Mountain was a quiet thing. From the time they'd spoken their farewells and left the shores of Lake Town little had been said. Oin and Bofur had both known there was nothing they could say to their young prince to lessen his pain. Nothing that would take away his grief. And nothing that would ease his torment. They were both brothers themselves and so could imagine Fili's heartache and fear without much conjuring. They didn't need to try hard to envision the anguish of their own sibling's capture. So neither, not even Bofur, attempted to coaxes Fili out of his dark and quiet mood, or comfort him with empty promises. And had instead allowed their young companion his space to suffer and mourn freely for the pain and fate he so feared would befall his little brother. Truth be told, they also didn't wish to stir Fili from his calm, if miserable state and risk working him into hysterics again. It was best, they decided, not to upset him any further and so kept mostly quiet with only an occasional comment on their progress or encouraging assurance that it would not be much longer.

There was no little sadness on their part either. They too cared for Kili, worried for his safety, and feared for his life. Oin had watched the lad grow. He'd watch Kili's carefree love for living follow him from his youth to his grown years. He'd watching him become the young prince they all loved. Bofur had only met Kili more recently. But had fallen for his joyful spirit in no time at all. There was no lack of sorrow then from either of them. As it was, neither was overly eager to speak and had no problems keeping hushed.

Fili, for his part, had been perfectly content to remain quiet and undisturbed in his thoughts as they drew ever closer to the Lonely Mountain.

He had never longed for Erebor. Not like his older kin who had once called it their home. He had never yearned for it like they did. He wasn't being called back by memories and coaxed back by old joys that could never be forgotten as they were. He had never missed it. How could he? How could he miss something he'd only ever hear stories of? Something he'd never see and never known? No, he'd never missed it like most of the other, like Thorin had. He hadn't pined for the stolen kingdom for years with a wistfulness that grew over time like his uncle. But even if Fili had not missed his forefathers' home, he had always been eager to see it. He'd always been impatient to glimpse what should have been his own too. Had always been excited to finally bare witness to the Mountain and all of its glories. And never so much as when they began their quest to do just that.

Throughout their journey Fili had wondered many times what it would be like to gaze upon Erebor for the first time. To see the grand front gates he'd been told reach up nearly to the skies open to them. And the great battlements that overlooked the meadows that lay before the kingdom. He'd imagined what it would be like to look upon the halls of their forefathers, to know his family had lived there, grown there, thrived there. To know his kin, his blood, had built those walls long ago. That they had walked those very passages, that his mother and her siblings had ran in those corridors. And what it would be like to peer upon the gold and gems he'd been promised filled those halls. To see the hordes of treasure that had been collect enough to attract the attention of a dragon. When times were hard during the quest it had been an exciting vision to imagine. It was always a good motivation when things turns sour.

That was why, when they drew to the high reach of the hills laying before the Mountain, and Fili laid eyes for the first time upon the Kingdom of Erebor, he was surprised. The view before him was not what he'd expected. Not the gaping opening where the gates had once stood., or the scorched stone that made up the towering walls and crumbled ruins that were left of the once grand entrance. It lacked the splendor he had anticipated, all the majesty he'd been raised to assume would be waiting for them.

Upon his first look Fili decided that Erebor had once been great. Despite the desolation Smaug had brought, he could still tell quite quickly that it had once been magnificent. It had once been everything he'd been promised it was. But not anymore. It was far from its glory he was sure. Erebor was more destroyed and abandoned looking then he'd ever imagined. That was his fault he guessed. It had been, after all, attacked by a dragon and one could hardly expect anything less. But still, if Fili had thought about it he would have realized that this was not the grand reception of finery and splendor he had wished for when dreams had taken him to the footsteps of Erebor before their quest. And this was not the warm welcome he had been expecting since he watched Thorin and most of his company disappear into the shadow of the Mountain a day ago. Nothing but cold quiet stone to greet them, and Fili instantly realized for the first time since Kili had been taken, that he wasn't even sure if the Company was alive inside of Mountain or not. The thought came too suddenly, and in that moment Fili could not possible take anymore fears and dread. So he immediately silenced the thought, ignoring the possibility as completely as he could, and chose to believe that they were indeed alive and waiting for him. He had to believe in something.

"There it is," he heard Oin whisper gentle beside him, his voice choked with amazement and joy. This had been Oin's home Fili remembered. He wondered what it would be like to look upon the place you had grown up, the place that was stolen from you, for the first time in so long. Surely different than seeing it for the first time. But either would be better, he knew, if there was someone with you to witness it, or at least waiting for you after you did.

Kili was neither. Fili could not make himself enjoy this event he had waited his whole life for. He could not even find it within himself to care about the Mountain he had journeyed to long to reclaim when Kili wasn't there to do it with him like he had been in every one of the daydreams Fili'd had of this moment. Not when instead his companion was grief, and fear and pain. Not when only one thing raced back to his mind every time it began to wonder. Kili wasn't with him.

As they approached Erebor, Fili was reminded, when actually seeing it for the first time, that he was an heir. He'd been told his whole life that someday he would rule. That this kingdom before him would one day be his. He'd been raised, and groomed, and shaped to sit on the throne just inside those walls. Fili had always believed what they told him. That he and Kili would inherit many things. That their birthright would bestow upon them riches and power. He'd never desired it like many of his race and even some of his kin. But he'd believed it.

And as they neared the Mountain, drawing ever closer to its broken gates, and he looked upon the massive stone battlements that stood so still and empty of life, Fili was uncertain what actually they were getting. When he stood before the entrance of Erebor, feeling nothing but consuming fear and loss that the quest to reclaim it had brought, he wondered what they had fought so hard for. What had cost Kili his freedom? What were they heirs of, ash and ruin?

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 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think. I would love and appreciate any and all reviews or feedback :) And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Kili. All in good time. Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the next chapter : )**

 **I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed, followed, or favorited this story so far. It means the world to me, and I truly love and appreciate every one so much.**

 **Also, I meant to mention earlier, I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes. I'm not very good at proof reading. But aside for a common scattered error, I hope there's nothing very wrong.**

 **Please enjoy!**

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 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (6)** _ **'Never Forgotten Gold'**_

Thorin had been born in Erebor. His first breaths had been under the Mountain. His first cries had echoed off the walls of stone carved through the kingdom. He had grown there in those buried chambers, had been raised there in those ancient halls. Thorin had many fond memories of his childhood home. The wealth and the plenty that had reigned so freely. The safety and joy that had prevailed over their untroubled days and calm, quiet nights. The peace that had once ruled them all. Before the sickness, before the lust, and well before the fall of all that he knew. He could remember the warmth and the happiness that had filled the kingdom, his family, their hearts. It had been a good many years, Thorin's youth, full of prosperity and a love for that which was not gold.

Smaug had taken it all from him, his home, his heritage, all that should have one day been his. The dragon had taken every promise of the future, every forthcoming dream, every trace of the peace for their past. He took the lives of Erebor's people, all the countless innocence he slaughtered. He took the only life Thorin had ever known. The young prince had lost all that he had. Smaug had stolen everything from him. Except his family. They alone had been left to him. And so Thorin had held to them, grasping for something that he would not be robbed of. Something he could cling to in the darkness.

His world had been shaken, his life turned over, and his future uprooted and scattered. He was left to gather the bits again. To put them back together. And he would have. Thorin knew that on his own he could have picked up the pieces, could have fixed the shattered parts, and could have mended the raveled scraps of his life that had run wild; jerked when no one was looking and pulled too quickly to stop before the damage was done. He could have found happiness and peace again.

But he wasn't alone. He did not have only himself to think of. He was a prince. And what's more he had his family. His devotion to both had grown too strong to break now, and his duty too complete to throw away and run from. So he had followed his grandfather and king willingly into the battle of Azanulbizar. No one had forced Thorin to heed his grandfather's wishes, who many claimed was well beyond mad even far from the Mountain and its treasures. None would have blamed Thorin for turning away from the insanity the king drove them to. It had not been reason and faith in sound judgment that decided Thorin's actions, but love and dedication that had made up his mind.

But then his grandfather had been killed. And his father gone missing. And his little brother slain before the steps of the East Gates of Moria. Smaug had taken his home. And there, on the slopes of Dimrill Dale, Azog had taken his family. Thorin had been left only his sister. And he'd decided then, as he held her sobbing body in his arms and with a determination born in his grief, that he would sooner shared in his kin's fate then loose the last of his family. He'd be dead before he watched his last living relation be slaughtered.

But now he had the weight of a kingdom to bare in the midst of his sorrow. With one fell of an enemy's blade Thorin had become the crowned head of an exiled people. King of Durin's folk who had not but sorrow and needs with winter fast approaching. It was then that the last of Thorin's youth was taken from him. All traces of boyhood vanished, all foolishness crushed. And taken with them was his own heedless nature, his youthful haste, and his time for careless thoughts. He could not gamble with such things anymore. What was left was a guarded, watchful, distrusting dwarf. Thorin was too scarred to be anything else. He was too broken not to change as such. He was too damaged to be healed completely.

And the burden of responsibility demanded nothing less. It was his task now to keep them all safe. To care for all those that had lived on with him, no matter how daunting it seemed to the young new king. No matter how challenging it would prove to be. And no matter, even, how impossible he believed it was on more than one occasion. There had been many times he thought he would fail. Many times he came close to it. But they were his people now, his responsibly. For they had put their faith in him, in his judgment, in his wisdom, and in his ability without any prior proof to speak of. And so for the sake of their lives and their trust Thorin was determined not to fail them.

That was why long after they had reached the Blue Mountains, long after the threats of a perilous winter had passed, and long after they had been settled into their new lives far from Erebor's halls Thorin still longed for the Mountain Kingdom. He desired Erebor's safety for his people. He wanted the shelter of its ramparts and the abundance it would yield. They had all they needed in Ered Luin. They would not soon starve nor were they left without recourses. Some might even say they prospered there. But Thorin remembered a life where they wanted for nothing. Where there flowed forth plenty. He wanted that life again. It was theirs to have, he believed, and it had been taken from them. He desired nothing more than to take it back.

Thorin wanted Erebor for those that had been lost too. In the quiet and solitude of his grieving heart Thorin had sought reparation. A yearning to right the injustice that had stolen his family from him had awaken inside his soul. As his sorrow stretched over the years his anger had grown. He wanted to slay the dragon, to put an end to that which had begun all of their pain. He wanted to destroy the cause of his people's graceless downfall into battle and loss. It was only right that he should avenge all those that had lost their lives defending what was theirs, and all those who perished while trying to secure a new one after being forced to flee from their old lives. It was only right that he should take back the home that had cost him so many of his kin. How could he dishonor his family by giving up and walking away from everything the dragon had stolen from them?

No, Thorin wanted the Mountain back. He wanted to reclaim what his family had build, what they had bled and died for. He wanted to build the rightful tombs for kings in the deep chambers of Erebor where his grandfather and brother should have been buried. Where the people would have said farewell to his father once they decided he could not be alive. Though that, Thorin had never believed so easily.

He wanted Erebor back for the living, for the dead, and in his heart he knew, for himself.

He would never breath a word of it, never spare a lasting thought to the selfish idea. But every bit the same, Thorin knew it to be true. There, only in his deepest thoughts and most private dreams did he want it for himself. It was his. It should be his. It was only right that he should be able to claim what was his own by birthright. But lineage was not the reason he felt the injustice of his exile so deeply. It was all that he'd lost. He, if anyone, had earned the right to sit on Erebor's throne. He had paid for it with enough of his kin's blood. Thorin wanted his home back. He wanted his heritage and all that was due him.

It was a selfish wish, Thorin knew. And yet it was there, ever pressing in the back of his thoughts. He could not silence the longing in his heart, or even quiet the desires that preyed on his conscience. He had finally convinced himself that while it was perhaps a self-seeking wish, it was not wrong. Why shouldn't he wish for it back? Why shouldn't he want what was his own and had been all of his life? Why shouldn't he desire the Mountain for himself like others did? There was no reason, he had decided long ago. Though, even Thorin was unsure if he believed it or only said so to ease his guilt.

These ponderings and selfish desires only occupied his most private thoughts. They were so deeply buried and so hidden that Thorin often forgot that he wanted it for himself as well as his people. His longing for the Mountain was so whole that he had long stopped pondering its source. He had long ago quit trying to decide why he wanted it, and trying to justify the reasons he deemed selfish and unworthy of his title and the crown he did not wear. He had simply decided it was enough that he wanted it, for all of them.

Regardless of the source, he had caught himself in those early years of their exile often gazing at nothing, lost in his own immersed imaginings of retaking Erebor. He had often dreamed of reclaiming the kingdom he had been raised in. The very idea had at times tempted a smile to his mouth, and the painful memory of how it had first been stolen often brought a grimace of rage and a noticeable change in his demeanor. He sister had scolded him before for his lack of ability to control his anger, and the power those memories held over him. It was not that she wasn't angry too. And dwarves were unforgiving at the best of times, holding on to grudges far longer than they could hold to the initial anger that caused them. Still, Dis had more than once disapproved of the sway past events held over her brother. She feared he would dwell on them, be consumed by them until it cost her the one brother she had left.

She had shared her fears with Thorin, and he had made an honest attempt not to long for Erebor so constantly, and certainly not so openly. Finally he had decided that it was best to stop holding his breath for something that may never come. To stop expecting a wonder of luck to finally grace them at long last. To stop dwelling on the Mountain and his desires to take it back. As the years crept by he had finally stopped wasting precious hours on the daydreams that once so completely consumed him. He stopped staring to the East as he remembered their journey from the Mountain and wondering if he would ever take it again. And he stopped letting it control his every spare moment with impossible schemes to reclaim his home. But he never stopped hoping.

Instead his wishes had remained in his heart, buried in his dreams, hidden in the privacy of only his deepest thoughts, and tucked away in his hopes. They stayed there brewing for years to come, inwardly building so that even he was unaware. Like an ember so hot, just waiting to take flame.

Until finally they had been stirred to life again when he met with Gandalf in Bree. Then, and only then, had Thorin allowed himself to feel his hopes unguarded and freely for the first time in so many years. He had finally allowed his dreams and wishes to resurface with a new optimism that he had never felt before. It was then that Thorin decided, without a moment of uncertainty, that the time of the quest had finally come.

He had made up his mind the very same night as his meeting with the wizard. Long into the night he had pondered his options and weighed his doubts. The risks where indeed great he had always known. But in the end his wants weighed more heavily on his heart than his fears. His hopes for the future had screamed more loudly than the reason begging him to heed the cautious cries from his past. Thorin had decided there was no choice to be made. While he could have ignored Gandalf's urgings and turned away from the Mountain again, he knew if he did, it would be the last time. If they did not seek their kingdom now, they never would again.

He never would again.

Thorin knew if he looked away from Erebor this time towards the safety and security his people had found in the Blue Mountains, he would never look back. To try to reclaim Erebor meant to risk all that they had obtained in Ered Luin. It meant to turn away from the peaceful life they had finally achieved after so much time. To set upon this quest meant to endanger all that he had worked for; to see his people safe and happy once more. And Thorin knew better than any that if he did not go now, if he failed to silence his fears and doubts now, and if he refused to give up the life he had attained now, then he never would. That night as he pondered for all hours there was truly no choice to be made. Not for Thorin. He would take back what was he and his kin's. And he would do it then, before it was too late.

So when he knocked on the hobbit's door tucked into the hillside of the Shire, he had known that this meeting would not change his mind or any of his plans. With or without a burglar he was going to enter Erebor again. In fact, even without the wizard he would make the journey. His mind was made up and there was neither time nor room left for doubts and uncertainty. Thorin was not afraid and he was not ready to back down from his plans for any cause. Once he had decided to reclaim his home there was no turning back. Not for him. There could not be.

By the time the round, green door opened and Thorin had first met their burglar he had already known that he would never again see the Blue Mountains or dwell at their foothills. He would take back his kingdom and claim his throne. Or he would die trying. When he first laid eyes on the little hobbit that Gandalf held so many promises in Thorin had been doubtful. He had not shared the wizard's faith in the nervous and overwhelmed Bilbo Baggins. And he certainly had not believed that such a small creature could have such a role in the success or failure of their quest. He had been wrong of course, so very wrong.

As he sat around the hobbit's table with an assembly of kin, friends, and strangers and a map laid before him, Thorin had felt stirring and growing inside of him an impatience, a hunger to reach the Mountain. It had remained a close companion of his throughout their journey, his eagerness and longing for Erebor only rising with each step. He didn't see it. He didn't hear it in his urgings to move faster, to make haste where they shouldn't. He didn't feel it take a hold of him as it pulled him ever deep in and called him always towards the Mountain. But as sure as fate greed had slowly begun to build within him. It gently began to whisper to his longing soul. And it quietly began to coax his lusting heart. Finally he could hear nothing but its call. He could feel nothing but its tug. Finally he could not see anything past his own desires.

That was why when Kili was sick and wounded and Fili chose to stay behind, Thorin had not waited with them. He had left, abandoning them in the village of men. And why when the Company reached the overlook before the slopes of Erebor and Gandalf was not there as he had promised, Thorin had not waited for the wizard either. He had waited long enough, all of his life even, to call Erebor his. So he had entered the halls of his forefathers not with his nephews or the wizard and instead with only expectations, hopes, and greed.

It had been greed that sent Bilbo into the Mountain with no knowledge that the dragon was dead or not. Greed that had ignored his Company's fears and concerns for not just their little hobbit, but each of their own lives. For if Smaug was indeed alive, there was little hope of escape for them all should he be stirred for his depths.

Thorin was not without a plan though. He had sent Bilbo into Erebor with a single purpose, to restore the Arkenstone from where it had been lost in the hoards of gold. It was the only way he could insure that he would keep all that he had fought for. With the Arkenstone in his possession he could gather the kinship that had swore allegiance to it, and with their strength he could finally bring an end to Smaug's rule over his kingdom. He would not watch all of their efforts come to nothing. He would not see everything they had reclaimed be taken against. He would not have this attempt to retake their home fail. Thorin feared the failure of this quest more than he had ever feared anything. It would decided if he would live out his life King under the Mountain as he was raised to be, or have it all ripped away from him one final time. Only the Arkenstone could guarantee that he would not fail. It was the only thing that could secure his future and that of his people. It was the only thing that mattered. All of his wants, all of his desires, and all of his hopes had been placed on the King's Jewel.

So Thorin had waited with a greedy heart for Bilbo's return with the gem in hand. But, like their preceding journey, all did not go as he had planned. The dragon was still very much alive, and had been woken despite Thorin's every wish. For a short time as he was lost in his panic and fleeing for his life Thorin had been able to forget the Arkenstone. For a precious few hours that could not be enjoyed by any of his companion due to their dire circumstances, Thorin had forgotten his pride and his greed and had been nothing but their friend and their leader. The very same one who had left the Shire with them some months ago.

But it was not to last. For when the peril had passed so passed their king's sense with it. Thorin had finally been given for the first time a chance to truly look upon his home. And what greeted him with an all consuming embrace, was ruin.

Thorin remembered well the halls and chambers of his childhood home. He had ran their length in his earliest days. He had journeyed deep into their heart in his older ones, learning the passages and web of corridors as surely as he knew his own name. He had spent so many meals in the dining halls, so many occasions in the throne room, and so many hours wondering the length and breath of the kingdom that he could not have mistaken them. He had spent so many of his early days roaming through Erebor on duty and in his own spare time that he could not have forgotten any of it. Not a single passage. Not a solitary room. Not a sole court. Not even after so much time.

So when he stepped foot into Erebor for the first time in nearly two hundren years, he had expected to see some of that left. He'd expected at least some of his memories reflected in those chambers, and at least some of his home and kingdom to match his recollection. Instead he had been welcomed with scorch. He'd been greeted with fire burned ruins, and collapsed barricades, and halls that smelled heavily of stank and death. Even as he'd raced through the kingdom fleeing the dragon he'd seen little of what he remembered and had for long dreamed of. There was nothing but a faint remembrance. A single archway that would trigger a memory. A lone baluster that would prompt a distance recollection. An overpass that released a rush of reminiscences to come flooding back into his mind. Each like a ghost from what had once been his life. A life that suddenly seemed far closer to a dream that a memory.

But it was none truly left untouched and undamaged. This was not the home Thorin had known. Nothing had been spared of the dragon's reach. Even the precious few places he had not reached with his flames still smelled thick with his breath and the stale scent of decay that had long been trapped within the deep stone chambers. No, this was not the home Thorin had remembered no matter how many phantom memories from his past it could force from him.

But then he had seen the gold.

With his own eyes Thorin had beheld the hoards of treasure Erebor had for so long guarded in her depths. And every bit of his disappointment was forgotten. All of his disbeliefs about Erebor's state had gone. And the whole of his sorrow for the beauty it had lost was immediately abandoned. There, glittering and shinning before him was an abundance of riches that far exceeded his own memory. In all of his dreams he had forgotten how vastly the treasure laid scattered, how high the piles of wealth rose, how boundlessly the gold and gems extended.

He fell suddenly, all at once, in a moment that happened quicker than a heart could beat. In a single breath he had slipped. It happened too fast to stop even if he had realized. It can too swiftly to prevent, and too completely to escape. With one single glimpse, in one single moment, Thorin Oakenshield had fallen into madness. Gold sickness had taken its hold on him. It did not show right away, save for the low breath of awe that had slipped passed his lips at first glance. The others could not see it at first, the change in their leader's heart. But after not much time at all they could see it in his face, in his eyes. They could hear it in his voice. It had seized him, a greed for the pale enchanted gold, a lust for the glow of gems. It was all his eyes saw. The clinking of riches was all he heard. The touch of it against his fingers was all that he wanted to feel. In one moment it had become all that he desired in the world. And to keep it, to claim it, he needed the Arkenstone. He had searched. He had demanded they all search too. But it had not been found.

Briefly, when one of his companions told him that the dragon had reached Lake Town and they could see flames upon its waters, he had left his search. They had gathered at the top of the gates, and from there Thorin had watched Lake Town burn. His nephews were there. His nephews whose faces he'd kissed when they were children. Whose hands he'd help when they could walk. Whose voices he had grown so fond of. Whose smiles he had come to long for through the years. Whose affection he'd been given so freely though he did not deserve it. Whose love he returned so deeply. For a moment, quick and fleeting, he had felt an overwhelming terror seize his heart. For a second fear was all there was. But quickly the sickness had rushed back in. Soon the craving and hunger for gold had returned inside of him. And a need, a need calling him.

The Arkenstone. He needed it.

He could not help his nephews. He could do nothing to save Fili and Kili. So Thorin had watched, without a word and without a single tear as Smaug destroyed Lake Town and undoubtedly many of its lives. He'd watched on as his kin was attacked by the dragon. He'd watched what might have been their death, his nephews' deaths, without an utterance of fear or pain or disbelief. He had just looked on and done nothing. And all the while was a whisper in the back of his thoughts.

The Arkenstone. He had to have it. Why delay their search any longer when there was nothing they could do? Why wait? What good could it do? They could not help their kin in Lake Town. There was no reason to wait he'd decided. He needed the Arkenstone.

So they had returned to the treasure chambers and searched. They had looked through the piles of gold, had hunted through the hoards of riches tirelessly. Into the night they had scoured for it. For two days they had searched. And yet it was not to be found anywhere. His Company had watched him with concern in the beginning. They had seen Thorin's crazed dedication to finding the gem. At first they had worried for their king. And then slowly, one by one, they had all fallen with him. All but Bilbo. Only the small hobbit had escaped the grip of gold sickness had was shared by his companions.

After two day they still had not found the object of Thorin's particular desire. And he had grown all the more consumed. He had been pulled even deeper into his greed. He had become ever more trapped inside himself, ever more distance from the world. So deep was he in his own appetite for treasure, that he had not thought again about his nephews. He had not once spared a moment to worry for Fili and Kili. He had not thought of them at all. Until he heard them, the heavy foot fall of dwarf boots above. They had lived. They had come. Thorin felt immense joy, and relief from fears he hadn't noticed were gripping his heart. He had waited so long, all of their lives, to welcome them to Erebor, their forefathers' kingdom. With a heart full of pride Thorin turned to greet them.

"Welcome my sister's sons-"

The moment Thorin turned around the words died on his lips, remaining unspoken forever. For the first time in days the piles of gold surrounding him vanished, or rather their importance. Suddenly they did not matter. His heart stopped and he knew, in his whole being he knew something was completely and utterly wrong. It wasn't the look of total loss and devastation covering Fili's face that gave it away. It wasn't the way his shoulders slumped, succumb to grief. It wasn't the overwhelming failure that shone in his eyes. It was the fact that he was alone. Thorin had seen his nephews apart of course, though it was rare. But this was different. Every important moment of their lives the bothers had shared. Even this quest itself. Thorin had worried that Kili was too young to join the Company. It had been Fili who convinced him to permit Kili to come. Fili had not wanted to experience it without his brother. They would never enter the reclaimed kingdom of their heritage, their family, separately. That had been clear enough by Fili's insistence to stay behind in Lake Town. He would not come alone now. Kili's absence meant something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Fili, where is your brother?"

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this intro into Thorin's prospective. I know it didn't have a lot of action, but I think these chapters are necessary to set the tone for the rest of the story. Please continue to review and let me know what you think, I would love to know! Thanks so much for reading :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the late update, but here it is!**

 **Please enjoy, and have a wonderful day :)**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (7)** _ **'News that can Bleed'**_

Fili had expected many things when he entered the Lonely Mountain.

Despite the fears that laid claim to his constant attention, the terrors that raged deep inside of him, and the concerns he swallowed with every breath, Fili found that he still had expectations for the kingdom meant to be called his one day. Since he was a child he had spent hours imagining the moment he would step foot into Erebor and first look upon its hall. H had spent so much of his youth envisioning this very time. And those dreams would not be completely ignored now. They would not be forgotten at the very time their images were born from even when challenged by his worries for Kili.

Fili found himself anticipating a sense of familiarity when he entered Erebor. Familiar only, of course, to his imaginings. He had no memories to rely on, no recollections to guide him as his mind constructed the image of Erebor he had carried from his youth, and nothing but stories to hint at the reality he now occupied.

He had known it would reek, but not so badly. And he had known it would be wrecked to some end, but not so terribly. Fili found himself indeed stunned by the utter extent and degree of the true destruction that so overshadowed his every belief, and yet, he didn't care. He was surprised to be sure. Erebor's splendor fell far short of all that he had anticipated. But he didn't care enough to mourn his shattered expectations. As he rushed through the first halls they came upon, he did not spare a lasting thought to the ruin around him, he did not take interest in eyeing the devastation, nor did he dwell on the rotten scent reaching into his lungs from every dank space. It was of little importance when compared to the fears that returned to his mind uninvited each time it started to wonder towards anything less troubling.

Instead he had listened. Most intently, for any sound of his uncle's Company, for any indication that they were there, for any breath of life at all. And when nothing but utter, complete silence answered his echoed calls and desperate shouts, Fili had feared the worst. He had been overwhelmed by terror and dread that he entered nothing more than the oversized tomb of the Company. It was a horrifying belief while it lasted, nearly having robbed Fili the absolute last of his hope. But then Bilbo had appeared, rushing towards them from nowhere every bit like the burglar he was supposed to be. And Fili had known then that if the small hobbit had outlived the dragon's flames the others had too, certainly, they must have.

"Wait!" Bilbo cried coming to a stop just before them, his breath a bit heavy from having ran from earth knows where. "Stop! You need to get out of here, we all need to get out of here. I think it's this place. I think a sickness lies upo-"

"Where's Thorin?" Fili interrupted, not giving thought to the obscurity of Bilbo's greeting, nor having the patience to wait for any explanation had he noticed.

Bilbo hurried on with his speech, not having paid attention to Fili's question. "I've tried taking to him, but he doesn't listen. I think-"

"Thorin, where is he?" Fili demanded, his impatience peeking and urgency rising. Where was his uncle? Hadn't he heard his calls? What but harm would keep him?

Bilbo quickly silenced, stunned at his young friend's sudden charge. He looked at Fili with puzzlement as his mouth opened and closed again uncertainly. That's when he finally noticed the looks, the shadows, upon his friends' faces and it took him only a moment of wondering to understand what was wrong. That their number of four, was now only three.

"Kili, isn't he with you?" He stammered, his confusion quickly turning to concern when he saw Fili's face darkened even further. Bilbo's eyes widened as he looked around, this time a bit franticly, only to find emptiness. Their youngest prince was not there.

"What happened?" Bilbo tried again more desperately this time.

"Bilbo," Fili spoke more quietly but with no less demand, "I must find my uncle. Where is he?"

"He's in the treasure chambers." The hobbit pointed to an opened staircase that traveled downwards to their left. Fili did not wait another moment as he rushed towards the steps without a further word.

"Wait, but you can't-" Bilbo called after him as if he'd just remembered something important, though Fili never waited to hear what it was.

He had stopped when he saw it, the heaping piles of golden treasures spreading out of view, and his uncle standing in the midst of it. This was it. The entirely of every story he'd ever heard of Erebor's wealth. Every fantasy, every dream. This was what had captured the hearts of a kingdom, and non as much as its king. This was what Thror had hoarded, what Thrain had guarded, what Thorin had once watched steal his grandfather from him. This was what they had traveled and fought for. This gold was the prize they had sought, and the object of all of their efforts.

It was indeed an incredible sight to behold. A wonder of the most extreme kind. A marvelous vision of fine splendor. Fili could not deny it, or the silent breath of awe that slipped past his lips. He could not deny the grandeur before him, and he could not deny the vastness of its glory. And yet, as he looked upon the glowing riches within Erebor's walls, the whole of their journey's sake, Fili felt nothing but bitterness.

He guessed if he had not known better then the gold might have appeared more beautiful, its shine may have seemed brighter, and its luster might have looked more brilliant. If he had not realized how must it cost him perhaps the treasure may had been more tempting. But Fili did know better. Wasn't this the same hoard of gold that had cost his family so much pain? Hadn't it cost so many of his kin's lives? Hadn't it cost him Kili?

No, Fili could not find a love for the riches within his heart. He could conjure no affection for the cold coins and silent gems that laid before him. They had already, even before he ever set eyes upon them, cost him so much.

And so Erebor's wealth held his attention for only a bare second, and only then as he considered his dislike for it immediately. All of his focus was drawn back to his desperate fears for his brother and his uncle whose voice finally reached him in a low, deep rumble.

"Welcome my sister's sons-"

Fili could see the exact moment that his uncle noticed Kili's absences. Thorin didn't have to speak a word, he didn't have to move. Nothing about his appearance changed at all, except his eyes. Fili watched as pride, as delight, as satisfaction fell from Thorin's eye, slipping away into the confusion ready to take their place. He watched as, in a single breath, it turned to worried. He watched as they filled with an unmistakable concern, as they transformed so instantly from joy to distress, as they turned into a deep stare of fear that bore into his soul.

"Fili," Thorin's voice came as a haunting breath full of silent fears and dangerous hope, "where is your brother?"

He could not answer. His voice was completely unwilling to work, absolutely unready to deliver such painful news. All of the urgency and panic that had driven Fili thus far died then to his utter dread, his shame and remorse. How could he tell him? How could he tell Thorin that Kili had been taken? He didn't want to. He couldn't. And if the horrid truth be known, he wasn't sure where his brother was. He didn't know what pain Kili was facing, what miseries he was enduring at that very moment. He only knew that Kili was not with him. Kili was gone.

"Gone," he breathed with pain, His own eyes were glassy with unleashed tears as they bore into his uncle's, not daring to look away.

Thorin stared unseeingly back at his nephew. Gone. The word echoed through his thoughts refusing to settle. Gone, it chimed as the air rushed from his lungs. Gone, it screamed again as the handful of coins clutched tightly in his fist slipped from his loosened figures and met the pile of gold at his feet with a ringing noise. All of his desire, his lust, his love for the treasures about him departed in one swift breath. The last of his yearning, and hunger, and need for it fled at the demand of his mounting fears. It disappeared as suddenly and completely as it had come.

Without bidding Thorin's legs began to carry him towards Fili. With each step his mind spun faster into his uncertainties. Kili was missing, gone, Fili had said. Gone how? Thorin wondered.

Like his own grandfather?

Like his father?

Like his brother?

As the very idea seized his every sense, utter terror rushed through the Mountain King's body. It clutched his stomach, froze his heart, and stilled his breaths. Could his youngest nephew really be…?

NO, came a roar in Thorin's mind. NO, it protested with absolute adamancy. Kili was not, he could not be. Gone did not mean dead, not this time. It couldn't.

He now stood before Fili, his elder nephew's pained eyes meeting him with silence. Thorin reached needingly forwards and gripped his heir's shoulders. "Where's Kili?" he asked peering around as if his youngest nephew might appear at any second. But when his gaze fell back upon Fili the look in the prince's eyes told him quickly and decidedly that he would not find Kili near.

"Is is his wound? Is it worse?" Thorin pressed, searching his nephew's face for answers as he tried to conjure any that would account for his youngest sister's son's absents. Any shy of his greatest fears. Yet, when Fili did not confirm his question, didn't answer at all in fact, Thorin felt terror build in him. He felt it grow. Nothing less would keep Kili from them.

A sudden realization finally dawned inside of him, coming forth at long last, and his eyes widened in horror. "Was it the dragon?" he breathed. Could he have woken that beast and set it upon his own family? Could he have caused this? The agonizing thought met no end when silence was again his only answer. Fili's lips were parted, but no effort to speak came forth. His body shook under Thorin's fingers, and his gazed dropped as he sucked in a breath to steady himself.

"Fili," Thorin begged desperately. "Tell me." Fili eyes met his uncle's again, and Thorin saw tears pooling in them, ready to fall. The young prince opened his mouth and one word fell out. "Orcs."

It was said in a whisper, barely audible, but it was enough. Well enough to plunge an unseen blade through Thorin's soul from which he bled ruby drops of shock, grief, and rage. He took a staggering step backwards, finally relinquishing his grasp on Fill's shoulders. Nothing could have made the news of his lost nephew easier. Nothing could have lessened the pain. But this, this made it everything that was worse. _Orcs_. They killed, slaughtered, murdered, he knew they did. The thought stung his eyes, choked his throat, shook his hands, and completely drowned him. Had they truly stolen his nephew from him too? Disbelief quickly numbed him. He couldn't feel the sorrow and anger and confusion. Only shock.

"Kili was…?" Thorin swallowed, unable to let the words pass his lips, "…by orcs?" At this Fili's eyes shot opened, wide and determined.

"No," he denied the implications of Thorin's question, "Kili was taken, alive. And we have to go after him uncle."

Thorin felt himself fixed with surprise and relief, unable to respond. Alive, Kili was still alive. He swallowed a gasp of joy, left absolutely silenced by this news.

The others, though, had gathered about them and finally dared to speak. "How did it happen?" Dwalin asked loudly as he stepped closer, his anger evidence enough of his concern for their missing prince.

"They attacked just before the dragon, swarming the bargeman's home where we had returned to." Oin began the dreadful tale of what had befallen them once the others had parted. He told them swiftly about Kili's collapse on the shore and of how the elves had found them and healed Kili's wound.

"…We thought the rest had fled, but they regrouped and came again even as Smaug was upon us…" Oin continued as Thorin's mind was lead into his own guilt. So the dragon had played a hand in his nephew's ill fate. The blame indeed fell upon him in part then. His heart pounded with guilt as he felt remorse clawing at his chest, ripping painfully through his body. How could he have let this happed? Thorin rebuked his actions, his mistakes as the weight of his failure crushed him until Fili's voice broke through his regrets, his tone heavy and pained.

"I tried to stop them, Thorin." The king finally looked up and met Fili's wet gaze pleading for Thorin to believe him. "I tried," he insisted quietly, "but they took him. They reached the bridge and were gone."

"Then we must find Kili and make that scum pay for what they have done," Gloin roared and was joined by voices of accord from the rest of the company.

Encouraged by the rally of agreement and seeing the silence of their leader, Dwalin took charge. "Make haste and gather your weapons we must depart at once." Fili nodded his approval, relieved to at last be taking action.

"No," Thorin finally spoke. He eyed his companions' faces with a look of deep hurt and cold determination. This piercing stare was brought forth by the very same emotions Thorin had been faced too often with. Grief and loss had shaped him into the deliberate, calculating, and at times seemingly unfeeling leader needed to survive. He'd been forced, time and again, to push away pain and sorrow to be what others needed, never allowing him time to truly grieve. He had been pushed by grief so far and so often that now he had only two choices when met with loss again, break or become too hard to. It was the second, and only real choice, that shaped his stone features now. It was this look that only a few of his oldest friends recognized immediately, beyond doubt. For they had bared witness to it before.

"Thorin..?" Fili, who did not understand his uncle's protest stammered, "We must-" he tried to reason before being interrupted by Thorin's voice.

"We must first return to Lake Town."

"But we where just there," Bofur declared, surprised and confused by Thorin's words in equal measure.

Fili stared at his uncle in utter shock. "You can not be serious." Thorin's fierce scowl told his nephew that he had never been more serious, that he could not be jesting at such a time.

"We'll leave at first light, and will track the orcs from where they crossed the bridge. We have nothing else to go by."

"If we leave now from here we can cut south and intercept them," Fili protected.

Thorin shook his head. "We don't know where they are taking Kili. If we're wrong we would have to travel back and start again. We can not risk that delay. Our surest route is tracking them from where they were last seen."

"We can't wait any longer," Fili roared, his emotions consuming him. "We need to find Kili, now." All he desired was to have his brother safe again and it seemed each attempt he made to do just that was thrown back at his face as another obstacle blocking his way, slowing him down.

"We have no choice," Thorin told him firmly.

Fili tried again desperately, "But Thorin,"

"Fili," Thorin yelled at him, his patience gone, "we can not rush into this." He was unable to ignore the painful reminder of how many times he had said those very words to his youngest nephew, how many times Kili's eagerness had gotten him into trouble. "We can not afford to make a mistake. The cost is too great this time."

The cost, Kili's life. It was indeed far too precious to squander in an ill planned rescue attempt. It was far too precious to loose for any reason, which is why Fili spoke again.

"If we do not reach him in time, it will not matter."

"If they mean to kill him, they would not wait long. Let us hope that their taking Kili means we will have enough time to save him," Thorin tried to convince Fili as well as himself. He could only hope it was true.

Fili only watched him in silence. He had no argument left, nothing more to urge the speed he knew they should take. He had only his fears and his dread. The weight of this choice was too heavy to make in haste, he knew that. The cost of a mistake was too high just as Thorin had said. But waiting could cost them too. It could cost them everything. So Fili stood there not at all certain of their plan, far from content but too unsure and weary to argue it anymore, and he cried. He felt the hot tears burn their way down his cheeks as a sickening anguish and panic and terror settled over his body.

Thorin reached to Fili and pulled him into his arm. "We will go after him. We will find him. I promise it," he whispered gently into Fili's ear as tears brimmed in his own eyes.

 **O O O**

It was a few hours later when Bilbo found himself entering the throne room where he had finally located Thorin. The keen eared hobbit could hear the heavy footfall echoing out of the vast chamber. As he drew through the door he immediately spotted the object of his searching. The Mountain King was pacing with quick strides the length and breath of the floor before the throne. He had not noticed the hobbit's presents. Bilbo cleared his throat loudly, causing Thorin's steps to halt abruptly, and shifted his weight nervously under the sudden gazed that fell upon him.

"I uh, I came to tell you that Fili finally nodded off. He put up a good fight even though he was completely exhausted. Bofur said he didn't sleep the whole of last night. But he finally settled down and drifted off."

Thorin nodded his thanks to Bilbo for having delivered the message. Fili hadn't wanted his comfort once he had gained his composer. He hadn't wanted anyone's in fact, but had instead asked to be left alone. And Thorin had been happy to comply. He had no desire to remain and see Fili in so much pain, to watch his nephew struggle to battle the terrors that attacked him. So Thorin had slipped away at the first opportunity, seeking the quite and solitude to grieve alone and gather his own thoughts.

Bilbo, for his part, make no indication of leaving despite what could easily have been taken as Thorin's dismissal. He instead spoke again. "Are you alright Thorin, I mean, given the circumstances?" He watched the dwarf's face carefully as he waited for an answer.

"Far from it," Thorin said, his gaze quickly returning to the flood as he resumed his pacing like his mouth had spoken without his consent.

"I've been told I'm a good listener. If you wish to talk, I'm here," Bilbo provided, not at all deterred by Thorin's unwillingness to talk. His large and silent feet carried his to the steps of the throne where his sat himself down. In truth, he wasn't at all eager to return to the sorrow and dark mood shared by the rest of the Company. He was happy to bid his time and stay away as long as possible. It wasn't that he didn't share their sadness and fears. Indeed the opposite was true. Which is why he preferred to stay away if he could. It was easier to stay hopeful when he wasn't surrounded by quiet, sorrowful dwarves. Though, he didn't blame them.

Thorin eyed the hobbit uncertainly for a few long moments, and when he could find no good reach not to, he finally spoke.

"I feel…" he tried to clarify the same troubles he could not fully understand himself.

"Torn?" Bilbo offered. Thorin looked at him in surprised, a question ready on his lips. "The pacing," Bilbo explained, "I guessed." Thorin pondered this for a moment then nodded. Yes, he felt conflicted

"You do want to go after Kili don't you?" The Halfling questioned, a bit fearful of the answer, afraid that the same obsession that had consumed the Mountain King over the past days would make him say no.

"More than anything," Thorin said, "But…" He could not finish as his guilt silenced him.

"But the gold?" Bilbo asked tentatively. Thorin's eyes widen with a look of horror.

"No," he said quickly, adamantly.

"I've seen the way you look at it," the small hobbit challenged. He wasn't letting intimidation show if he felt it.

"The way I _did_ look at it," Thorin corrected. "I do not care for it now, not like that. I swear to you," he promised trying to convince himself of the same. It was true, he did not want the gold like he had before. He no longer coveted it with a blinding passion. But then, he could hardly trust himself anymore.

"What then?" Bilbo pressed.

"The Mountain," Thorin breathed. When the Halfling gave him nothing but a confused stare he hurried to explain. "My grandfather once told me, before he fell to madness, that a king's tasks are not his own, his pursuits are not his own, he wishes are not his own. But they are that of his kingdom, his people, and their needs." Thorin sighed. "He did not heed his own words, and it brought this kingdom to destruction."

"I don't understand."

"I have a responsibility to Erebor, and it is my duty to defend and protect it. Leaving means turning away again just as we got it back, abandoning it to an uncertain future. I will be failing all those whom I promised to claim it for.

"But you did," Bilbo reasoned, still not understanding Thorin's trouble.

"And I am leaving it, unguarded. With Smaug dead there's no certainty that another will not come and try to seize it for their own. I can not protect it if I am gone. I am leaving it opened to be taken from us again. Can you not see how I am failing? I am the king, and I can not help but wonder, in going after Kili am I failing my people? Will my own pursuits cost them and this kingdom, as my grandfather's did?"

Bilbo exhaled slowly, finally understanding.

"I never wanted to be my grandfather. But each step I take, it seems I become more like him," Thorin said bitterly, his eyes fixed on something in his hands. It was then that Bilbo notice the golden crown clutched in Thorin's fingers and the glare on the king's face as he eyed it.

"You can not compare yourself to your grandfather," Bilbo said gently, trying to coax away the contempt upon Thorin's face, "This isn't the same. It isn't a hoard of gold you're seeking. It's family, it's Kili."

"But I did seek the gold. I did want it, desired it, just as he did."

"You came out of it," Bilbo countered.

"Not before it cost my nephews. I think I fell to the gold sickness long before I saw the gold, long before I set eyes upon the treasures. I could feeling it calling to me, I could see its splendor in my dreams. And I was weak enough to fall." Thorin confessed with shame. "It's why I left them behind. I am no better than Thror. And now I am forced to make his own mistake and put my own desires before the good of my people."

"It is admirable that you want to do what it right for your kingdom even if you can't," Bilbo tried to convince him. "You needn't feel guilt for wanting what is best for all…for wanting to be a better king."

Thorin shook his head in denial. "I don't. I feel guilty because I don't care. I should. I should cared more for my kingdom. But now," he said looking up from the crown in his hands, "I don't. If that makes me an ill suited leader then I believe I will make a poor king, if indeed there is a kingdom to rule when I return."

"So you will search for Kili then?" Bilbo questioned with relief.

"As long as he and I both still draw breath," Thorin said, letting the crown drop from his fingers to the ground. "I only hope for the chance to do right by my nephews now, even if it is too late to make amends for the wrongs I have made against them.

"As you should," Bilbo choked happily. He had fear since the glint of lust entered the king's eyes that all the goodness in Thorin Oakenshield was gone forever. He had feared that Thorin was lost to the sickness of greed that laid upon Erebor. Bilbo was pleased beyond measure to now find no trace of the sickness that had so recently consumed the Mountain King's heart.

"And what of you, Master hobbit," Thorin's voice pulled him from his relieved musings, "why will you be joining us?"

"I, well I signed a contract," Bilbo shrugged. The hint of a smile pulled upon Thorin's lips, and though it was quickly replaced by his grief stricken features that had assumed their place since he had heard the news of Kili, Bilbo was glad to see it.

"Of which you have fulfilled better than I deserve. You have every right to claim your share of the treasure and leave this place for your home."

"I…" Bilbo stuttered uncomfortably, his fingers twitching in his pocket where they had retreated with Thorin's words. "I want to help, if I can."

"Why?" Thorin wondered.

"I am part of the Company."

Thorin looked at the hobbit sadly "We have no agreement this time. No terms, no settlement. I can promise you nothing, not even safety. You have no obligation to come."

"I wish to join you then, as a friend," Bilbo smiled fondly.

"Then we are fortunate indeed to have you with us," Thorin nodded with deep gratitude.

Perhaps the little hobbit could help them save Kili after all he hoped silently, before fate dealt a blow he wasn't sure they could survive.

* * *

 **I know, still no Kili. But I promise it will be soon!**

 **I hope you all could appreciate Throin's struggle. He does want to save Kili more than anything, but he also feels burdened by responsibility. He's afraid of making the same mistakes as his grandfather that cost them so much, especially after falling for the gold like he did. Anyway, I hope you liked it.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited. It means the world to me. And please let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Please Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter 8** _ **'Old Foe or New Friend'**_

Fili woke to the sound of low murmurs. He rolled over and pushed himself up slowly, still in a half sleeping state. Glancing around, he realized that he'd been laying next to the small fire that had been burning since he'd arrived, with a blanket gathered under his head for a pillow and another thrown over his body. He hadn't arranged this bedding for himself; someone must have done it for him. One of his friends must have lowered him to a lying position once he nodded off, and given him their own wraps.

Fili didn't remember falling asleep. He hardly remembered feeling tired at all. He'd been led to the quarters the Company had assumed as their temporary living area, which was only the least wreck chamber they could find that was still close enough to the treasure hoards to be convenient. After being fed he'd settled down by the fire and found a comfortable place for his sore body with his back rested against a fallen column. His companions had been kind, each offering every comfort and favor they could think of. But Fili had not wanted their sympathetic and empty words as sincere and caring as they were meant to be, and he hadn't wanted their attentive treatment as they tiptoed around him making every effort not to upset their prince. He was far beyond troubled already and wanted nothing more than to be left to himself. When finally he could no longer stand his companions' careful behavior and too eager service to every charge they imagined he needed, Fili had asked to be left alone. They had all quickly complied, still wishing not to upset him further. Of course, Fili had still heard the sad whispers being shared around him, and he had still seen the sympathetic glances thrown his direction every few minutes. But it was better than having to response and answer their questions and deny their many offers. Given the circumstances, he'd been content to sit by the fire in his own silence.

And that's the last he remembered do. He'd been watching the flames reach and climb, lost in memories of the past two days when he must have fallen asleep. Now, he was pulled from his slumber by the low humming of voices from another room. Breathing deeply to wake fully and rid himself of the exhausted haze still trying to pull him back into the dead-like rest he'd so desperately needed, Fili looked around. The chamber was empty, he was alone. Pushing himself to his feet, he groaned as pain seared through his burned left hand. There where still white blisters under the skin and it ached sorely. Fili shook away the distraction, intent on finding the others, and moved to leave the room just as someone rushed in.

"Oh, you're awake. I was just coming to get you," Nori told him.

"What's happened? Where is everyone?" Fili quickly wondered.

"It's the Prince of Mirkwood," the other dwarf explained excitedly, "he's come to the Mountain."

"Legolas?" Fili questioned quietly. So Tauriel was right, he still lived. Fili felt an unexpected and rare, as of recent, joy upon hearing this news. The elf had helped Kili, had helped them fight the orcs, and had helped Lake Town when Smaug came. Fili was grateful for the elf prince's aid, and considered him an ally, if nothing more. "Why is he here?"

"We're about to find out. Come on lad." Fili instantly followed as Nori led him towards the front gates.

"He came a few minutes ago," the older dwarf informed Fili as they hurried along. "Thorin wouldn't let him in at first, until he said he had news of Kili. That's when Thorin told me to come wake you. He knew you'd want to be there of course."

 _Kili_. Fili didn't hear the last of Nori's speech. He stopped listening the moment he heard his brother's name, and his steps faulted for a second before continuing yet faster. His entire body came alive, surging with questions. What could Legolas possibly know about Kili? Fili wondered anxiously. The minutes it took them to reach the rest of their Company seemed endless, and Fili felt nervous anticipation settle in his stomach.

Soon, and finally, they had joined the others before the great entrance hall. As they drew near it became obvious that the group had been standing in an uneasy silence. It seemed that none of the dwarves had forgotten that the last time they'd seen the heir of the Woodland Realm, they had been his prisoners. And from the scowls upon a few faces, it seemed they had not forgiven him for it either. Even Bilbo looked uneasy. He had, after all, helped the Company escape from the prisons Legolas had himself put them in. Only Bofur and Oin where standing near enough to the elf as not to appear either fearful or resentful. They had been the only ones to see quite another side of their once capture when he had defended them in Lake Town, and were pleased to find him alive. Still, they had failed to bridge the rift of distrust and anger that lay gapingly obvious between the group of dwarves and the elf, thought from what Fili could tell, it was most entirely single sided. All eyes turned their way as Fili and Nori reached them, the younger making his way to stand beside his uncle nearer the elf.

"Greetings Prince Fili. I am pleased to find you well, though be it poor circumstances," Legolas met him with a respectful nod.

"And I you," Fili managed to speak back. "I'm glad to see you alive. We were not sure." It was true, he was glad to see Legolas, and glad to see him well. Fili's happiness at seeing this kind ally again was the only thing keeping him from losing all control over his desire to know about Kili. It was this small, happy distraction that kept him from immediately asking every one of his questions at once.

"Enough of this," Thorin growled impatiently, his tolerance much more lacking. "What do you know of my nephew?"

Legolas turned back towards the King, ignoring the curt manner in which Thorin spoke to him, and refocused on the task that had brought his to the Mountain. "As I imagine you know, I was with your nephews in Lake Town when the orcs attacked. After they fled we parted on the water's shore. I was in the north of the village when I realized the orcs had returned and saw them escaping across the bridge. I follow, but was slowed by the damage of the dragon and couldn't not catch them. So I trailed them through the night and into the next morning. A few hours after leaving the Long Lake they met with another pack of their kind and mounted wargs, then continued without stopping. Near noon the next day they must have feared they were being followed, for they parted. I overtook a group of five near the river and slaughtered them," this, Legolas added with satisfaction.

"But before they were killed," he continued, "I heard them speak of traveling to Mount Gundabad. I believe the rest regrouped further up and moved on towards the mountain. I was never able to intersect them again so returned to Lake Town. When Tauriel told me of Prince Kili's capture, I came immediately to tell you all I knew.

"You think they're taking him to Gundabad?" Thorin asked quickly, all edge gone from his voice now. "Are you certain?"

"I believe that is where they were going. They were traveling west, towards the north end of the Misty Mountains," Legolas nodded.

"Then we have a heading," Dwalin bellowed loudly.

"Yes," Thorin confirmed, "we at least know where to start looking." Then, turning to Legolas, "You have my thanks, for bring us this news." Thorin met the elf's eyes and bowing his head in certain gratitude.

"We are in your debt to be sure," Balin agreed.

"I am glad to be of service and wish I could have done more. I'm honored to call Kili a friend. He seemed to believe that our races could put their differences aside in the name of peace. I would be happy to see him proven right," Legolas answered

"If all could be as wise as you, perhaps someday you will," Thorin said, his compliment evidence enough of his quickly changed opinion of this elf, if not yet all of his kind.

"You didn't see him?" Fili finally spoke for the first time with a desperate gaze in his eyes.

"Nay," Legolas answered sadly. "I regret that I was never close enough to see that they were carrying a prisoner. You can be sure I could have done everything in my power to recover him."

Fili only nodded his understanding. He had hoped…well he wasn't sure for what he had hoped. He didn't know what he'd wanted Legolas to see. There could be no news of his brother that Fili would receive well. No matter how unharmed Kili might have looked, he would not stay that way for long. He was a prisoner of orcs. Kili was far from safe, far from well in any circumstances. So even if Legolas had seen the stolen prince, there was no report his could give that would truly ease Fili's fears. Nothing would have quieted the terrors that roamed so freely through his every waking minute and every haunting dream. Still, Fili had hoped for some news, as insignificant as it may be. He'd wished to hear that Legolas had caught even a fleeting glimpse, even if it was only the back of Kili's dark hair or his unmistakable figure among the pack of orcs. Anything to confirm that he was still alive.

"I would come with you, if I could," Legolas's voice spoke again, ending Fili's moment of consuming disappointment. "I have long wanted the orc scum destroyed with the evil that plagues our borders. But my father desires I travel to Riverdale at once. So I will leave you now to your task, and with wishes for your success." He nodded his farewell and turned to leave them just as Fili spoke again.

"You did not have to come here, and still you did. For it you have my gratitude, and my trust. I am honored to call you a friend as well," he said, and then after a quiet pause, "and so would Kili."

At this the elf looked sincerely moved. He did not speak, but bowed his head in understanding and appreciation, and then in a breath was vanished through Erebor's gate and lost in the darkness of night.

Fili watched him go, not ignorant of the blessing he'd brought them. A direction would saved them hours, days of searching. It would spare them wasted time good for nothing but draining their strength with agonizing worries. It was no small thing, and no small reason to hope.

Fili felt hope stir in him. He had every reason to believe they would find Kili now. And that thought was enough to silence, for now, the persisting doubts that had tortured him consistently, claiming that he would never see Kili again. New hope quieted the fears telling him that the last time he ever see his brother would be as Kili was dragged away into the shadows by orcs. They were terrors Fili hadn't been able to ignore as desperately as he tried. And now he was grateful beyond measure that for the moment they had ceased in the presents of a decided course and plan, finally.

"Will we still return to Lake Town first?" the quiet and timid natured Ori was the first to break the silence. His quietness often allowed him time to ponder and question the things others forgot in their haste to have their voices heard. Fili, not having thought to ask the question himself, turned to his uncle and awaited a response.

"Yes," Thorin said after a moment of consideration.

"Why must we waste that time now that we have a heading?" Fili demanded quickly. He was beyond weary of waited. His nerve was nearly spend and his resolve close to crumbling. He could not for must longer sit and do nothing. It had taken all of his control to wait idly for so long in tortured pain with only his fears to occupy his thoughts. And his ability to wait was just about gone.

"If we're going to Mount Gundabad it will be faster to follow the Forest River. We must reach it at the edge of the Long Lake," Thorin answered him.

"He's right," Balin granted. "We'll make better time traveling that way."

"How long after them do you think we'll reach the mountain?" Fili asked.

"It's hard to guess," the old, white haired dwarf spoke again. "If they're indeed on wargs they'll have quite an advantage on us. Maybe a few days."

A few day extra that Kili would be with them. A few days that the orcs would not be traveling and anything could happen. A few days that his little brother would be at the mercy orcs didn't possess, where he could face unimaginable horrors, and suffer hideous tortures. The thought made Fili sick. Dread collapsed into his stomach and panic attacked him so forcefully that it nearly brought tears of fear to his eyes again.

Thorin must have realized the reason for Fili's deep worry as he saw his nephew's face pale in fright. For he too felt the miserable weigh of fear wash over him. He would not, no, he could not abandon his youngest nephew to the hands of such foul creatures for a moment longer than he had to.

"It's nearly dawn. Go and gather what you need. It is time to depart," he ordered and all moved to comply, as eager to retrieve Kili as their king and prince.

It was time to be rid of this Mountain that had cursed their hearts and go rescue what was theirs.

 **O O O**

Esgaroth upon the Long Lake had never been a rich town. Even at its beginning when it was built by traders it had not matched the grand magnitude and abundance of the kingdoms and realms around it, and had not compared to its neighboring city of Dale in any shape or form. Even at its greatest it could not have rightly been called prosperous. But despite its lack of wealth, Lake Town had once been new and sturdy and with great promise. Many had eyed it with hopeful potential. Its position, built up out of the water where none had dared to before, granted Esgaroth trade enough to keep it maintained and stable. Its people had always found contentment with their lives there as, though it was not exceedingly bountiful, it was safe. Its founders had not only built the City-harbor upon the water for trade, but also to be protected by it. They could not easily be reached in the center of the Long Lake, and were safe from enemy advances in any large number. The high cliffs that surrounded the lake too served as a barrier to keep foes away. And so, even though through the years the wood that make up Lake Town had aged and damaged and its structure sunk lower into the water and the little that once shined new and bright had long lost its sheen, the town had always remained a safe and peaceable settlement. And save for the small squabbles and discord among its own people, it had always been left free from trouble's reach.

Until the dragon came.

As Thorin and his Company reached the shores of Lake Town, each was stunned at the image of desolation before them, even those who had been there to see the fire lick away at the old town. It was different in daylight when all the flames were dead. Fili, Bofur, and Oin had left so early on the morning after the attack that they hadn't been given the chance to truly see all the damage they had survived. The waters were now stilled and the roaring inferno smothered and the screams had been drowned by an eerie and haunting quiet. The chaos that reigned that night had given way to a grief and pain that could be felt by all as they pulled up onto the shores.

Thorin had watched Lake Town burn from a distance with the rest of his Company. He knew fully what had befallen the City-harbor. And being surprised once already by Smaug's destruction of Erebor, he had known to expect the worst. Still, the bleak sight of smoke rising from an expanse of black char from every part of the very town they had sought refuge in only a few nights ago was distressing at the least. So many homes had been collapsed, and so few had been left untouched. Any small hope Thorin had clung to that Smaug had been slain before he had the chance to wreck everything so completely was gone quickly as he viewed the extent of ruin in its entirety. And all of it, Thorin knew, was his fault.

He had woken the dragon. He had set it upon them. He had abandon the town to its fate. Even if it was too late to stop, even if he could do nothing to help, he hadn't even tried. His responsibly for the wreckage and lives he knew had been claimed even where he stood was well enough to seize Thorin Oakenshield with guilt. His remorse was just more pain to add to the weight that had burdened him from the beginning of his reign. Every king wore a crown, but his had never been of gold. His had always been made of his shortcomings. And each one of his failings, each one of his mistakes, each one of his errors was its gems, jewels, and stones. They weighed upon his heart rather than his head, were they could not be removed.

He had abandoned his nephews to this, to this devastation. That was the newest and heaviest ornament in his crown of failures. It weighted the most, shined the brightest, and sat as the center piece among the rest. In his madness Thorin now realized he had left them to die. He regretted it, more than he had ever regretted anything. He was ashamed beyond mere guilt. And he knew without doubt that his actions were unforgivable. But he could not take them back. They were his to bare for the rest of his life. He had left Fili and Kili to the wroth of the dragon he had himself provoked. And though they had outlived Smaug's attack, his abandonment had still been their downfall. This mistake had cost Kili his freedom, if not more. And even if others someday could, Thorin knew he would never forgive himself for it.

Bilbo was the one who finally distracted him from his guilt stricken remorse.

"If we mean to gather supplies before leaving, we should find the Master shouldn't we?" the little hobbit asked. Gathering provisions first was the plan that had been agreed upon.

"We can't," Bofur said, "he's at the bottom of the lake by now I'd imagine."

"He's dead? Then who's in charge of the town now?" Thorin questioned as he turned to the toy maker.

"Bard, last I knew. The people were following him two nights ago anyway," Bofur answered.

Thorin swept the shore with his eyes, and finding no one nears, let alone the Bargeman, he gave order, "Then we must find him."

All quietly followed Thorin's purposeful footsteps down the beach, eyeing with sadness the destroyed state of the little town. Bilbo couldn't help but wonder if he could have stopped this, if he could have saved the lives that had been lost. He was the one that had unintentionally told Smaug that they'd come from Lake Town. He had mistakenly wielded the dragon's wroth upon the lake men and inadvertently cast the drake's fury upon them all. It was not his fault alone, Bilbo knew. He hadn't by his own standing provoked Smaug to rage. It was his dwarf companions that had done it. The dragon's hatred for dwarves and the sight of some loathed familiar faces had sent the beast into a fit of untempered anger. But just because the blame was not his alone, it did not lessen his guilt. Nor should it, Bilbo believed. He'd still had a hand in dealing such death, as unintended and honest as it was meant to be.

He had tired to stop it, he had. When Smaug stated so clearly his wrongfully sought plan for revenge upon Lake Town, Bilbo had lost all sense and reason and fear. He'd found courage buried in his anger over the injustice intended for innocent people. And he'd actually stood up to the dragon. Bilbo would never have dreamt in his wildest fantasies that he, so small and once so afraid, would willingly stand against a dragon's wrath. But in that moment he'd been too angry himself to care and too worried for those in Lake Town. His protest hadn't done any good, save for easing his conscience a little now when he thought back. But he was glad he had done it. And he was willing and eager to do all in his power to make amends as best he could to the folks of Lake Town when he was given the opportunity.

As it was, this time he was there again with the Company to ask for rather than give. It them took a few minutes to reach the encampment were the residence of Lake Town had settle temporarily. The throng of people was vast, and rather than searching through it all, Thorin chose to make his need known.

"Boy," He asked the nearest person, a young fellow, "do you know where I could find Bard the Bargeman?"

"You mean Bard the Bowman, the slayer of the dragon?" the lad questioned excitedly. "He's over there," he said upon Thorin's nod, pointing deeper into the crowd.

After giving his thanks, Thorin and the rest hurried to wade through the bodies towards the current Master of Lake Town. His new title of Bowman and Smaug's slayer suggested that he had gained not only the peoples' support, but also their admiration. It left the Company to wonder if they would be able to gain such favor in Bard's eyes. They couldn't know whether the town's new leader, being the single objector of their quest to the Mountain, would greet them with anger and send them away, or if he would prove his wisdom and character yet again. If not the second, they could only hope the gold coins they had brought with them had as much sway over the new Master as it had the old.

"Bard," Fili heard his uncle's voice shout even before he himself had spotted the man. Turning to greet his name's call, Bard's eyes settle upon the group of dwarves and his face drew an indecipherable appearance.

"Thorin Oakenshield, so you live after all," He spoke. There was no answer to be had, so the Company waited in silence for their judgment to be passed. His next words would surely tell them if their reason for coming to him were hopeless.

"What would bring you back to these shores? After all you have brought upon us?" Bard demanded, his anger painfully obvious.

"My nephew," Thorin answered him quickly, his voice void of all pride whether forced or without intent. "He was taken by orcs." Fili stiffened at his uncle's words. They still pained him to hear, still somehow shocked him with the weight of their meaning each time they were spoken.

Bard's face softened noticeably and he dropped his head in empathy. "I had hear this. I am sorry."

"As am I, for the pain we have caused you and your people. I have no right to ask anything of you, but our need is great and I am desperate for you help," Thorin met Bard's eyes with sincerity.

"What do you require?"

"Provisions, supplies for our search. I know you do not have must to spare, but we are willing to pay whatever price you ask," the dwarf king stated.

Bard watched him in silence. He understood Thorin's needs, and he sympathized with his cause. Even if Thorin had brought pain and death upon them, Kili had not. The dwarf prince had been kind to Bard's family and had protected his children. He owed Kili at least what Thorin was asking. But he had his own people to think of too. He had their wrecked lives in his hands, and a cold winter fast approaching to considered. So it was with careful thought that Bard delivered his answer.

"You may have what you need, for the price of all the gold you promised this town."

Thorin's jaw set in surprise. And a murmur of amazement travel around the group of dwarves. Fili, though, only watched his uncle with bait breath for his response. They could not afford any longer of a delay, that was for certain. The gold was owed to the lake men anyway, it had been promised to them. Thorin needed to take the offer and they needed to leave at once. There was nothing Fili wished for more at that moment.

But it was more than mere time and need for supplies. Fili wanted desperately, needed desperately, to see Thorin choose Kili over the gold this time. His uncle's choice when last he'd been forced to select one over the other had left Kili and him behind, and it had cost them everything. Fili needed to see Thorin value Kili more than the treasure, more than the gems and the riches. If his uncle did not, Fili couldn't trust a word of love and devotion he'd ever heard Thorin utter. If Thorin did not choose Kili this time, Fili could not believe that his uncle loved them at all.

"Please uncle," he heard himself plead without bidding. Thorin looked at him with a stone expression and Fili could tell, he'd already decided.

"I will pay your price."

"Then you will have your provisions," Bard told them with a satisfied smile.

Fili's breath rushed from him in relief and Thorin reached to his nephew's shoulder and squeezed it gently, his silent message clear; there was no need to wonder where his priorities lied any longer.

"Good," came an unmistakable voice from behind, "it is settled then."

The Company turned in amazement to find a certain Grey Wizard standing before them.

"Gandalf," Bilbo mutter in astonishment, the only one to speak in their surprise.

"It seems I reached you just in time," the wizard said, as if his sudden presence was no cause for confusion at all. "A little longer and I would have missed the search."

* * *

 **Yes, I know. Still no Kili in this chapter either. But I Promise he's coming _very_ soon (like next chapter, shhh don't tell). Anyway, I hope in the meantime you have all enjoyed Fili and Thorin's perspective as they and the Company embark on their search for our missing prince. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and/or favorited so far. I truly love and appreciate each one. Again, please let my know what you thought of this chapter, and thanks for reading! Have a wonderful day.**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so sorry for the long wait. But here it is and I hope you enjoy!**

 **Thank you again to everyone who has responded in any way to this story. It means so much to me. Please let my know what you think of this chapter :)**

 **Have a blessed day.**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 1 |**

 **-Trying is not Enough-**

 **Chapter (9)** _ **'Hope is a Fragile Thing'**_

There are times when one wonders if things could be any worse. When light and hope are equally scarce. When all seems lost in an overwhelming flood of despair. When everywhere you turn is only pain and grief. When it presses at your back and pushes you further than you knew you could go. There are times when one believes things could not be worse. And there are times when one knows they could not be. When hope is dead and darkness descends upon you. When there is nowhere to hide, no way of escape.

Kili did not know at which state he was. If he thought only of himself he knew things could not be worse. He was, after all, a prisoner of the orcs and there was no circumstance more dire. But if, however, he was thinking of the situation in its entirety, he couldn't deny that things could certainly be worse. Because he was indeed alone. It meant his brother and uncle and the rest were free and safe, or safer. Even though the solitude and loneliness was the most painful part of his torment, it was the dim light also telling him not all hope was lost. Things could indeed be worse. The others could be captured with him. But this miracle was also his curse.

Because he was alone. Completely and utterly. And he had never before felt a loneliness so deep it hurt, so enveloping it crushed him. He had never known an emptiness that ached in his heart. He hadn't realized that aloneness could lay bare his strength so quickly, stripping his self-reliance to the core. And he hadn't known that being left alone could stir a denied craving for company that burned in his very soul.

He wasn't truly alone, not in body. His loneliness did not come from a lack of lives around him. There were instead far too many cruel ones far too close. The orcs were only a small distance away, much closer than Kili would have wished. He would see their stirring bodies near the fire, and he could hear the rumble of their voices. No, he wasn't abandon in the flesh.

But still he was alone, more so than ever before. He had never felt so far from love and protection. The distance between he and safety seemed endless. And the miles between he and anyone that cared for him at all seemed a hopeless many. All of his life he'd been watched after. There had never been a day when he did not feel valued and loved. Kili had never had to face the world alone. And now, for the first time, he was utterly alone to face every hardship, every cruelty, ever pain, and every threat that raged against his weary strength. And it was a truly terrifying thought, as if his heart had been abandoned impossibly far from comfort. Kili couldn't deny the fear he felt settle in his stomach even if he wanted to. It was frightening to have no one with him. It was an unsettling and fearful thing to be completely alone in the midst of an enemy. And the worry had only grown with time.

In between his terror and struggle, he'd had plenty of time to consider his dire state. After being nearly drowned in the lake, Kili had been dragged in the dark borders of Mirkwood. He hadn't been able to stop them. His screams and shouts had done nothing, and yet he had let his voice ring through the dark air and bounce off the hard tree trunks about him with unrestrained power. They didn't help him, but there was a defiance and unwillingness to give up in their sound. And with the orcs hands so tightly trapping his body, it was the only freedom he had. In his initial hours as a new prisoner, when he was overwhelmed with panic and incredible rage, there had been a desperate sense of pleasure in the curses and cries he unleashed. And a more desperate hope that someone would hear the sound from somewhere. When the orcs finally had a chance they gagged him. But it didn't do much. The stale, soiled cloth pressed between his teeth only changed his shouts from a blatant holler to a suppressed outcry that still rendered the desired affect. He'd only stopped when his throat was too swollen to continue. He was warned for hours by a growing ache in his throat that his voice was dying. He hadn't listened and finally it had and his cries had ceased.

The struggling had lasted longer. Their hands had held him firmly, and his every effort to free himself proved vain. But it hadn't stopped him from trying. Surely his thrashes and kicks and pulls would weaken them eventually. Surely his efforts had to tire them as much as they did him. Or so Kili could hope. After nearly an hour they bound him. And still he had fought and wrestled with every bit of his quickly diminishing strength. The orcs had struck him in fury, outraged and weary of his struggle. They hit his face and body, twisted his limbs, and kicked at his protesting legs. But there was no time for a sound beating so Kili got away with only an occasional strike that hurt but did not settle him. Only sheer exhaustion finally did. When he was so tired he could hardly make himself stand, when he was so weary that it took full minutes to drag enough strength into his muscle to object again, when his head hung almost even with his shoulders in collapse, he had then finally quite fighting them. And only because he had no other choice. He had fought until his body couldn't anymore, until he was so weak he fell in and out of consciousness with each step.

It was perhaps a good thing then, that not much later they mounted wargs. After hours of picking their way through dense foliage, the orcs must have felt it was safe enough to travel along the river. On wargs and in the clearing by the water they were able to move much more quickly, all the more disheartening and horrifying to Kili. Each moment left him further and further from safety.

During his two nights and now second day of capture, Kili had found that if he kept quiet he was left alone. He was still too tired to continue fighting even after he'd had time to rest. His body was too weak, his stiff muscles ached sorely, and his wound was yet intensely painful with each movement beyond careful steps. And he knew he was now far from Lake Town and the Company, too far for even hope that his cries would reach someone that cared. So he had chosen to remain still and hushed, despite the protest rushing with each heartbeat. It was painful to let them take him further from his kin without a single word of objection. He had to deny every instinct that told him to fight. It felt wrong to do nothing, but he knew for his own protection he must. But he resented each moment of his silence with a hateful displeasure. It felt like a betrayal of his very character. Yet, in spite of the struggles warring inside him, Kili was in no doubt that it was for the best. He was smart enough to know that his pride paled when cast against the value of his life. So he remained quiet and still and ever observant as he wait most impatiently for his chance to flee.

The opportunity had not come, not in almost two full days. Kili found himself still as trapped as he'd been two days prior, bound in an encampment of orcs. They had finally decide to break against from their ever west bound direction, and he'd been discarded into the grass to get what rest he could. His body ached and the wound in his left leg burned. And yet the most agonizing pain came in the form of infixed reflections in his distant mind.

He had failed. He had tried first, with every effort, with all his strength, at every opportunity. Throughout the entire quest he had tried relentlessly to be what he should. He'd tried to prove his worth. He'd wanted his mother to hear tales of the journey and look upon his with pride. He'd attempted to be strong enough, to protect others, to care for himself. He even tried to conceal the poison when it was slowly killing him so he would not be trouble. And more than anything, he had tried so very desperately to fight his way out of the orcs' hands and save himself in Lake Town. He'd struggle to get free, tried to reach his brother's hand. But he had failed. His sincerer efforts had mounted to nothing. His attempts weren't enough.

It was a painful truth, and a humbling blow to know that no matter how hard he tried it still hadn't been enough. But that was not the only dark thought that plagued Kili. If it was he was sure he could swallow his crushed pride as he waited hopefully for freedom to reach him, either by his own escape or rescue. But there was also a fear, a dread that settled in his gut. He as afraid, terrified that the ones that would come for him, the ones that would come to rescue him would be killed. Fili would come. Kili had no doubt. Thorin and the Company would come if they were able. And Kili fear that when they did, they would be out numbered, attacked, and killed. He had considered it for two days now. The fear had strolled through his mind unwelcome countless time. It had wondered into his deepest terrors, and had found its way to the center of his panic.

He didn't want to be abandoned. He didn't want to be left to die alone with the orcs. And the thought of no one coming to help him was such a miserable and fighting one that Kili could still feel his heartbeat rush whenever he thought it. But as much as he feared being left forgotten and alone, he feared the death of those he cared about far more. He could not bare if his kin and friends came to save him only to be slaughtered themselves. It was an incredibly alarming idea, and one Kili couldn't ride himself of. It was too painful to consider. They couldn't come and be killed. Not Thorin and the Company. Not Fili. Not for him. No, he so desperately didn't want that.

So he was left alone to struggle with two hopeless thoughts and battle with his fears. He was afraid of being abandoned and left to die. And he was just as afraid of those he loved falling when they tried to save him. He was afraid of them all dying together.

No, it would be better to just die alone.

 **OOO**

Gandalf the Grey was no fool.

There were some that thought it. Some had even said as much. It was well known by the general crowd that Gandalf was most peculiar. Of course most folks knew nothing of the wizard outside of what they'd gathered from mouth to mouth reports. Nearly all judged him by nothing more than the hearsay stories and rumored tales that reached them; tales far older than those who told them and whose truthfulness was questionable at best. Still, all that heard mention of his name had an opinion for or against his keenness. Some that had met him themselves too believed he lacked sense. Whether the cause be it his tall hat or obsessive sputtering on his pipe, a number of his acquaintances deemed Gandalf foolish, doubting his wisdom and complete sanity.

Not all were so harsh in their judgment though. A great many folks thought him wise, or thought that he could be wise if he bother to use the smarts he was given. They did not think he, necessarily, lacked understanding, only that he often simply didn't care or at least remained indifferent because of his undecided and at many times unpredictable nature.

Most however, thought of Gandalf as nothing more than a vagabond, just a pilgrim who had long ago forgotten his purpose. It seemed to them that he now wondered, seeking opportunity to amuse those he could with his tricks, and attempted to offer help when he was able to justify his existence on occasion. His constantly wondering mind followed well his reputation.

It was only a precious few that knew the truth, that despite being certainly strange and a bit odd to be sure, Gandalf was no fool. He was indeed very wise, thought not always in the way people believed he ought to be. His understanding of various matters far exceeded any other's. And his knowledge about a great many things was surely unmatched when challenged. But it was his vast experiences, and the lessons he had collected from them that truly made him wise in every way he considered important. He had learned, through his years of wondering and living a life so preyed upon by chance, not to take things as they seemed, not to judge too quickly that which you do not know, and that it was the unexpected that one must watch for. It was the unforeseen that one most needed to ready themselves for. Because without fail, he had come to know, good things did not stay that way forever. There were always ill winds coming sooner or later. As was life. The cautious mistrust he had learned to carry with him always had saved himself and others many times. It was what made Gandalf the Grey truly one of the wisest of his age. Because he knew, better than most, that it was the little, lurking, and sudden things that could topple so quickly every safe hold and defense any life could have.

That was why when a butterfly landed on his staff thus and whispered to him in the soft voice of Lady Galadriel, he had stopped and listened.

He was in the south of Mirkwood when it came, having nearly reached Dol Guldur. His purpose for journeying to the old fortress was simply, though far from easy. He meant to determined, for certain, whether the dark forces of Sauron had returned. His task was not a pleasant or comfortable one, and the wizard begrudged his errand with a hateful apprehension. He did not wish to go by any means. But what must be done is far more important than what one wants to do. So he had gone. Still, no little dread had followed his footsteps as he drew closer to the Hill of Dark Sorcery. He had long suspected the sorcerer return, but had cowered from the truth in fear. It was not fear for something as fragile as his life that filled him with shuddersome alarm. But of a darkness sweeping upon them unseen and destroying all that they knew. For if indeed the Enemy had returned, as Gandalf suspected with growing trepidation, they would all have more to fear than death.

But he could no long hide from the truth, as terrible as he feared it would prove to be. And he could no more shrink from fate's hand he knew. It would be better to know now, while there might still be a chance to defeat their enemy's strength. So he had made the dreaded journey despite his every desire not to, and every fear of what it might uncover.

It was a shame, he'd thought as he reached the rolling swells of green forest that laid just before Dol Guldur came to view, that Sauron had picked this place to take as his fortress. It had once been so beautiful and pleasant. Gandalf could remember the fortress before it was over run by evil. It was built on the hill top which was called Amon Lanc, and had once, in the beginning long ago, been the capital of Oropher's Silvan realm. But when Sauron captured Amon Lanc and the Silvan elves were driven out, they'd fled North to the Black Mountains of Mirkwood, where they remained until Thranduil, Oropher's son and heir brought them over the Forest River to dwell where they were safe and hidden from the world. They paid for their security with solitude. And traded their place as part of an active world for protection. As their new home remained concealed in the forest, the realm they left behind was take and turned into a stronghold of malice.

But it had at one time been so lovely. Gandalf had only seen it once before it was seized, as it was captured shortly after. But once was well enough to judge its peaceful brilliance and enchanting radiance for all it was. While the fortress was Oropher's capital, it had glowed with a charming magnificence that was dreadfully lost with its people's retreat to the forest where they had given up their realm's beauty in favor of a strong haven of earth and wood to take shelter in against the world. It was a pity, the old wizard had mused, that Amon Lanc had fallen to such ruin. The tall new towers adorned with nature had been over taken by decay. The pools of river water that collected at the foot of glistening waterfalls have dried up. And the grounds and gardens that were once so beautiful had been trampled by darkness, and the whole thing left to rot. It stood now to show that even the most lovely of things could be taken by evil.

It was during these pondering, when he was almost to the fortress, when Gandalf was stopped by the little massager sent by the Lady Galadriel. He was wise enough to know that such messages did not carry light greetings, but a matter of most importance. And so as the small butterfly spoke to him, without in fact making a sound at all, he had listen diligently to the words it brought.

" _Mithrandir, I bring you news from past the Misty Mountains, where your friends are in need of you. They have reached Lake Town but I see a shadow creeping towards them. Evil chases them. You must return to Thorin and his Company and do not travel to Dol Guldur. I caution you, a darkness, deep and strong, lies upon it. Do not go there alone my friend. A malice is moving, and I fear if you go, bad things will follow. Abandon your search and return to them."_

There was no protect to be had, no argument he could make against the Lady. And he dare not defy her. So Gandalf had done the only thing his could do, heed her warning.

"So be it."

He had turned back at once towards Erebor. He could do deny that he was glad to be leaving his private quest and Dol Guldur behind. But there was no time to enjoy his relief, for uncertainty followed his footsteps as he travel back through Mirkwood. He knew, of course, that whatever was to befall Thorin and the Company was a most serious matter. Of that he had no doubt. But venturing a guess was the best he could do regarding any details, and that proved to be an utter waste of time. For try as he might, Gandalf could not place a finger on the evil Lady Galadriel said was coming for the Company. He did not know what could possible reach them in little Lake Town that was so very serious. He only knew that it was. That's what his warning had said.

More surprising was that he knew, aside from being critical it had to be entirely unexpected. If Lady Galadriel had not seen it before and sensed its coming, there was no question that it had drawn near without warning. There were few things she was not wise and keen enough to foresee, and those rare occasions always came from in the shadows. If she was to miss something, it was not surprising that it would be creeping out of the darkness where it was hiding. Gandalf knew if Lady Galadriel had sensed this shadow of evil so suddenly, then surely it would reach Thorin just as unexpectedly. There was a reason he was to return to the Company. He would be needed. This darkness would come from nowhere, and Gandalf only hoped he could reach them before it did.

He had travel with as much haste as he could, journeying back through the forest and towards the Lonely Mountain with a determined speed. Coming from the south, he had reach the clears upon the Long Lake first. From here he could see the Lonely Mountain tall and dark in the distance. He hadn't seen it for a great many years. The last time he did, it had been with deep concern for the beast that had come to rest in those halls. He had feared it then, and looking upon the Mountain again he was reminded that he still may have reason to fear it. But Gandalf could see something else too from the shore clearing he had come out on. Something closer and far more alarming; the haze of black smoke raising from Lake Town.

He had known then, immediately, what foul darkness had struck Thorin Oakenshield and his Company, what malice had touched their lives. Theirs and so many others. It was clear, in a horribly unmistakable way, that Smaug had been woken from his depths had had set upon the town with unrestrained force. That much was a certain terrible truth. And though Gandalf could not know what had become of the Company, he was sure his time was best not wasted standing on the lake shore. They would need help. Surely someone would, the Company, the lake men, someone. So he hurried to reach Esgaroth as quickly as he could, all the while hoping despite such frightful looking odds that they had not all perished. Not all the people of Lake Town. Not all the dwarves traveling for Erebor, their home. And not Bilbo, the small burglar from the Shire.

He'd heard them before he actually saw a living soul. The old wizard heard the chime of busy voices once he reached Esgaroth's shore. It did not take long to find the hoard of people and as he grew closer, Gandalf saw with such relief that there were a great many of them. The dragon had not slaughtered them all, or even close to it. A few quick inquires had given answer to his questions and confirmed his suspicions; Thorin had entered the Mountain without him, and Smaug had then attacked the Town in rage. Though, Gandalf was both surprised and relieved to find out that the drake had been slain by a bowman, felled from the sky and now laid at the lake bottom.

When no one had news from Erebor, Gandalf had pressed through the crowd in search of someone who might. And that's when he saw him. He saw Thorin, every bit alive, standing with his Company around him as he spoke with a man. They were there, in the fresh, and they all looked well. Gandalf immediately spotted Bilbo among them, and even he appeared unharmed. Gandalf was utterly relieved to find them still living. He had feared a great deal, when he saw that black smoke in the wind, that they had been slain in their haste to reach the Mountain. The wizard had known well the dangers inside Erebor's halls, and had tried to convince Thorin of them. He had warned the dwarf king not to enter the Mountain without him. Thorin had not listened. Selfish desires had driven him where he should not have yet gone. And the price for it was high. But it seemed the Company had not had to pay the price. Others had. Despite the injustice of the circumstances, Gandalf was still happy to find them well. He had at first doubted very much that they could have all escaped the dragon, and was glad to be wrong.

But something was wrong. What accounted for the Company's presence back in Lake Town? Or the stricken faces they wore? Greif for the devastation around them yes, but there was…something else. Something deeper, something more painful, something more personal.

The Wizard had come upon them from behind just in time to heard the answers to his own questions in the dreaded news Thorin told the man.

Kili. He had been taken, stolen by orcs. They were the shadow Lady Galadriel saw chasing the Company. There were the malice that crept unseen upon them. This was why he had been called back and told to abandon his errand. Thorin would go in search for his nephew. And Gandalf would surely go with him.

"Good, it is settled then," he broke into their discussion, drawing all attention to himself and a mutter of astonishment from the hobbit. "It seems I reached you just in time. A little longer and I would have missed the search."

Bilbo's shocked face was the first to recover enough to speak. "How?" he stuttered in puzzlement, "What are you doing here?"

"I believe it would be quite clear. I'm going to search for Kili."

Thorin eyed the wizard with a mixture of disbelief and suspicion. He had been surprised by grief, and shocked by pain, and even stunned to silence in the past few days. So though he should have perhaps anticipated yet more surprises, finding Gandalf the Grey before him was entirely unexpected.

"How did you know to find us here?" he demand.

"A warning. And I believe I gave you one about entering that Mountain without me," Gandalf answered, his eyes a challenging stare.

Thorin looked at him with anger, as if calling to mind his own hateful chastisement "Do not come here and tell me of my mistakes. Do you think I can not see?"

"More wondering if you could not hear, or perhaps remember?"

"And what of you? Where were you when we reacted the slopes? Where were you when we needed your help?" Thorin roared.

"Thorin enough. This will not help Kili," Fili reproached, placing a restraining hand

on his uncle's arm. His voice was firm, but his eyes were pleading.

"Fili is right, and wiser than we have been," Gandalf nodded. "There is no need to scrutinize the past. We cannot change what we've done. Let us think now of saving Kili."

"Aye, I'm sure that is best," Thorin conceded with a soft nod. He was not yet ready to forgive the wizard for his mistakes. But they were truly so few against his own. And for that, Thorin could let this reprove go. He surely deserved it after all.

Turning to the Company he then gave intrusion, "Go, gather the supplies quickly. We depart in an hour. It's nearly evening and I want to reach the other shore before dark."

As most scattered to comply Balin remind with Thorin and his heir. "Thorin," the old dwarf spoke quietly and tossed his eyes at Bard, who had remained standing in silence throughout their encounter with Gandalf. Thorin turned back to the man, having lost all thought of him until that moment.

"I thank you again for your help. You have my word that you will receive payment upon my return."

"And what if you don't?"

Both Thorin and Fili looked at the man in surprise, as if the thought truly hadn't crossed their minds even once. In their fears for Kili they had entirely forgotten to worry for their own safety it was true. Bard noticed their upset faces at such a notion, and was quick to explain himself.

"I truly hope you will be well on your journey. But if you were not to come back, how can I be sure my people will get what they've been promised? They are suffering, and I cannot rely on your words alone if you are leaving. Your successor may not be so generous." if there was any cynicism in the last part of his speech, Bard hid it well.

"What would you have me do?" Thorin questioned with a stern gaze. He would not allow this man to back out of their agreement now.

"Your sign, that Erebor owns Lake Town payment, regardless of its king."

That was not so much, considering they had already been promised it, Thorin thought. "So be it," he agreed, both annoyed by the time the demand would take, and relieved Bard had not tried to back out of their arrangement.

Bard turned and bid him to follow. "I will draw the papers, this way."

"Why don't you come with me lad?" Balin caught Fili before he could follow. "We'll go help the others." Fili looked uncertainly at his uncle, and Thorin noticed for the first time now tried he truly looked. Between his pale face and dark drawn eyes he appeared as though he could collapse. Thorin was suddenly struck by concern for this nephew too. He was utterly exhausted. And mostly, Thorin knew, of waiting. The sooner they left the sooner Fili's conscious would allow him to rest and his guilt would laps enough to sleep properly, or so Thorin hoped.

"Yes, go help the others. We'll be ready to leave sooner. I'll join you shortly," Thorin told him gently. Fili nodded without a word and moved to leave.

"And Fili," his uncle stopped him, "we will return. With Kili." Fili's face was immediately changed from the fear and dread that had so readily assumed his features as of late to the stroke of determination he felt flowing through his body.

"I know." With a weak smile of reassurement Thorin let him go and followed Bard, with Gandalf, surprisingly, training behind him.

 **OOO**

A quarter of an hour later Thorin and the wizard were on their way to join the rest of the Company. Bard had drawn the papers up and their terms had been quiet simple; the supplies in exchange for the promised gold. Thorin had signed it as he said he would. And now, with nothing more in his way he was beyond eager to begin the quest to save his youngest nephew. But he was afraid. Not for himself. He did not fear would they would face out there. For despite Bard's concerns, Thorin had no doubt that he would return to the Mountain.

He feared he would return without Kili.

He couldn't help it. He could not rid himself of the terror in that thought. He couldn't shake the horrible idea out of his mind. And he could not, as desperate as he wished to, discard the possibility. There was a horrifying chance that they would not find Kili, or at least not in time. Thorin knew it was true, even if he'd told Fili it wasn't. It was such a miserable, torturous thought. And yet, Thorin could not make it leave. He could not maintain unwavering faith like Fili. Unwavering desire, yes. Unwavering hope, certainly. But not undisputed faith. He wished that he could. He did not want the agonizing possibility of Kili's fall to so plague his heart. Thorin felt guilty that he even let it. But struggle as he did, he couldn't make the fear leave him.

"What has you so worried Thorin?" Gandalf's voice pried into his pained worries. "Do you doubt this Company now? After all we have been through? Do you not think we will successes?"

"I fear not in time," Thorin's answer came so simple yet so painful.

"You must have a little faith," the wizard said. "It has brought us this far."

"Fili has so much. But I… Do you? Do you really think we can reach Kili, in time…before he is killed?" Thorin struggled over the words, so hurtful they nearly brought tears to his eyes.

The wizard leaned back and sighed with understanding. His answer came slowly, thoughtfully. "I have come to believe that as long as hope still lives, no one is truly dead."


	10. Chapter 10

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (10)** _ **'Stand or Fall'**_

Bilbo Baggins had expected a great many things the morning he went racing out of Bag End.

That night, his home filled with dwarves and his mind fuller with uncertainty, he had thought long and hard about embarking on such a perilous journey, he truly had. And he'd made up his mind; he could not go. Of course not. He would die. The more he thought about the dangers, the risks, the more certain he became of his decision, and the more certain he became of his fate should he venture outside the shire. He had fallen to sleep that night, or rather the very early morning after hours of thinking and wondering and deciding, and he had been entirely certain of his safe and reasonable choice.

But then he had changed his mind, quite suddenly. Bilbo wasn't sure what kind of insanity had gathered his processions into a bag without his reason's consent. He didn't know what senselessness had put on his coat and ignored every ounce of the wisdom he knew he possessed. And he couldn't say what type of madness had pushed him out of Bag End, past his neighbors and the gardens and fields, further than he had ever gone until it was too late to turn back. It had been a crazy thing to do.

But still, it was not without a clue that Bilbo left. As he'd gone running though the Shire with all his sense, and reason, and respectability shut firmly behind his round, green door he had known that much awaited him. It was a daft and dangerous venture true, one hardly befitting a Baggins or their reputable place in Hobbiton. But Bilbo had made his choice knowing full well the risks he could face. He was not _entirely_ mad after all, despite what all the rest of the Shire folk surely must have thought, only close to it. He was not silly enough to think luxury and safely would be plentiful out there. He knew, or could at least take a sound guess at the things he would encounter. Bilbo decided leaving his home to race into uncertainly was only as foolish as it sounded if he didn't have a good reason. And even if a wild impulse of Tookish blood could hardly be considered a sound cause, he was willing to call it such, if only to justify the insanity of the whole affair to himself.

A few short months ago Bilbo would have thought the very idea of him on any kind of adventure was absurd, utterly laughable, and entirely out of the realm of possibility. Back then he had considered them quite horrid things not at all worth the trouble and nothing but bad news for respectable hobbits. He would have never believed when Gandalf's shadow fell upon his garden that the very next day he would be running out his door with not so much as a single sane thought of hesitation or, he was soon to discover, a handkerchief. If someone had told him then that he would sign the contract knowing full well the chances of death folded in those pages where his name was written in a hasty scribble, Bilbo would have called them mad. If he'd been warned that night, before thirteen dwarves felt into his home, that his life was about to change forever, that he was about to throw away the comfortable existence he'd built, that he was about to ignore all sensibility and suddenly go against the reputation he had come to bare so faithfully all on a nonsensical whim, Bilbo would have denied it with his every breath.

But things change. He had changed. For reasons he still could not name, he had packed a few belongings and chased after the Company leaving behind him everything he'd ever known and come to value. It was exciting truly, and frightening for certain. More than once Bilbo had wondered if he made a mistake in coming. More than once he'd thought of returning to the Shire. More than once he, and others, had questioned his place on the quest. But in the end he had stayed. Why, he wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps it was became he'd wanted to prove that he could. He'd wanted to show that he was a bit more brave, and a bit more tough than he appeared. Perhaps because he'd been too curious and too invested to turn back after so much time and so much effort. Or perhaps he'd been too afraid of going back and regretting it for the rest of his safe and comfortable life. Whatever the reason, it had made Bilbo the braver for it, his courage had grown. And it had made him all the more eager and willing with each irreversible step he took. The closer he drew to the dangers and threats, the further he came from returning to the quiet, unexciting life he had always lived.

Thinking back, he could still hardly believe he chose possible death, probable death, over the Shire. It certainly wasn't that he wanted to die. No, he had many things to live for. He guessed in the end, he'd gone because he could. Because for the first time in his life he'd been given the opportunity to do something his never would again. And when force to pick between seeing so much of the world during an ever death dodging adventure, or never seeing any of it at all, he couldn't bare the second. He couldn't bare staying in his armchair forever while thirteen dwarves marched across Middle Earth to take back their own home. He had to help if he could. He had to go. It didn't really feel like much of a choice in the end.

So when Bilbo left the Shire he had expected, and maybe even hoped for, many things. But sorrow had not been one of them. The weight of grief and sadness they carried with them he had not expected. The dwarves traveling in woeful silence he had never hoped for, even if he had joked that he did. The sadness that ever throbbed in his chest now he had never wanted. But it was here, another unexpected twist their journey had taken without their bidding. And as miserable as it made him, Bilbo found that he could hardly be surprised. He had gotten his share of nearly everything else on this quest, why not pain too? He should have known he wouldn't escape all the bad among all the danger. But perhaps he had. Maybe that's why he almost hadn't gone in the first place.

Either way, it was certainly there, the pain. And there was so much of it. A sorrow born from sudden grief, and grown in worry. Worry. It was everywhere. It lay upon every face of the Company. It could be heard in every word they spoke. It could be seen in every movement they made. It was so heavy that Bilbo was sure he could almost feel it weighing on them, so thick he could nearly reach out and touch it and pull it from the air where it was trying its utter best to suffocate them. As the Company settled into their encampment for the night, darkness having claimed its place in the sky, it was with a troubled and sober mood. A sense of missing had found its way to the empty place Kili left among them.

After crossing over the Long Lake and the beaches surrounding it, Thorin had led the Company up the slopes bordering the lake and through the grassland that lay before Mirkwood. They had reached the meadows along its perimeter just as sundown came. Rather than spending the night inside Mirkwood's menacing fold, they chose to camp in the clears where they all felt more safe. Even so, they still remained an uneasy distance from the black forest edge, and Bilbo noticed that no one chose to sit with their back to it.

Tasks were performed quietly with only necessary conversation. And the meal was taken in silence save for the muttered 'thank yous' as they were served. It seemed no one had anything of comfort to share, nothing pleasant to say so they all remained hushed. Even Gandalf kept to himself as he smoked his pipe and watched the forest with what could be curious interest or wary concern. Bilbo wasn't sure which. He only knew that he was glad when the dreadfully solemn meal was over and he could retreat to his bed, or rather the pile of wraps he had slept on for months now. He didn't feel like talking any more than the rest. When there is no comfort to be had, sometimes the greatest comfort is to simply be alone in your misery, and Bilbo certainly found that true. He was miserable, or as close to it as he'd ever been. He missed Kili, quite awfully. He had grown rather fond of their youngest member and his infectious joy. That was no surprise really. Bilbo wasn't sure anyone could help but love the ever pleasant dwarf. Kili had certainly brought much brightness to the Company during their quest to the Mountain. And his absence was sorely felt and even more painfully missed. It was terribly clear in the woeful state of their camp and particularly, in their youngest present member.

Fili had stayed by the fire long after the meal was finished. He had remained long after the others had gone off to sleep. And he had lingered even after the flames had long die away into rich red embers. He was neither tired nor driven to do anything in particular. He just was. And all he could feel as he sat there unmoving was an overwhelming worry. He felt it in every breath, in every heartbeat, like he was drowning in it or trapped in its hold. There was no escape from its dark presence and its cruel stare that scorched his soul, or the phantom fingers of dread it touched him with as it squeezed his stomach and wove knots inside him.

It had taken a long time, days, for the panic to truly die away. So long that now with its absence Fili felt exhausted. Exhausted from the unending rush of horrors drumming through his head at every moment. Exhausted from the unceasing trembling and undying energy that came with his delirious panic. That is until it all crashed around him and he was left completely drained and wishing he could remain utterly still. It was exhausting to even think now that the wild, frantic fear had finally waned and the hysterics had relented, giving way to something that now seemed much worse.

Rational terror.

Now there was nowhere to hide from his worries. Every fear he now had to claim as his own. He couldn't attribute them to his panic or hysterics any longer. Each one was the product of days of thinking. Every fear he had left was logical and sane. And that was more terrifying. Because that meant they were real. He had real reason to fear them. And the greatest trouble was, very few had vanished with his panic. Nearly all had remained as rational worries Fili couldn't deny. They filled his chest and his throat. They clawed slowly and painfully in his stomach, ripping him apart tactfully, cruelly. They chewed on his heart, spilling his blood one drop at a time. And it was the most painful think Fili had ever faced.

It all felt very much like a dream, or at least unreal the same way dreams were. And in brief, desperate moments Fili would actually think he could make it all go away, that he could drag himself from a slumber of terrors and rid himself of the nightmare being lived out around him. But it was only a fleeting notion. One that came when he wasn't thinking to stop it and gone as suddenly as it appeared. The wild thoughts were so temporary Fili almost couldn't remember them when they were gone again. But even after actuality stunned him back to the miserable present he couldn't make the unreal feeling leave. Maybe he just hadn't know before now that one person could feel so afraid, and worried, and in such pain. Maybe he hadn't realized those things were so real until now. He had never felt anything like this before, just as he had never stiffened at his uncle's approach like he did as Thorin appeared beside him. He didn't pull away knowingly, but Thorin saw the slight flinch and lowered himself down beside his nephew slowly, cautiously. Fili however, had quickly reassumed his still gaze at the fire.

"You should sleep," Thorin told him gently.

"I can't."

Fili heard a heavy sigh next to him.

"Neither can I."

A loud, still silence lapsed over their soft voice for a while.

"Where do you think he is now Thorin? Do you think he's alright, or…" Fili didn't finish, the rest far too painful to force out of his mouth.

"I don't know."

Fili had hoped for more. A lie, he guessed. Because no one could really know. He wasn't sure why he wished for news that would be nothing more than a guess no better than his own. He didn't know why he longer to hear words that he knew might be untrue. Any reassurance of Kili's wellbeing would be fake, utterly unreal. Nobody knew. He didn't. But still he wanted to hear something hopeful, even if perhaps it was a lie.

"He told me once," Fili spoke quietly, not entirely sure why he was doing so at all, "that he was most afraid of being helpless. Of not being able to protect himself. Or others. I told him it would never happen. Because even if he stumbled, I would be there. You would be there. We weren't," he said, his voice hardening with a trace of what could be bitterness or pain or both. "I wasn't."

"When did he say that?" Thorin questioned, wondering when his youngest nephew had ever taken the time to consider something so earnest.

Fili shrugged faintly "Just one night."

"During the Quest?"

The younger dwarf stared at the fire, wondering if he really want to tell his uncle the story, if it even mattered. It felt like it mattered, like it was a moment between he and Kili and he wasn't sure if he wanted to share.

Finally his head nodded weakly. "Yes. It was one night after we were trapped on the cliffs. He said he thought we might actually die that night, that we would be killed by the wargs or fall to our death and there was nothing he could do about it. He said he never felt so powerless, so desperate." Fili looked back at Thorin. "How must he be feeling now? He's alone and can't… and I-"

"You were right," Thorin cut in. Fili looked at his uncle sharply, confusion and unbelief obvious. "When you told Kili he would never be helpless, you were right. Because even if he is alone, your brother could never be defenseless. His heart is too brave. His will is too strong." Thorin smiled softly, halfheartedly. "His tongue is too sharp." Fili started at his uncle in silence. "He'll never give up," Thorin said gently, meeting his gaze.

"But I lied to him. I wasn't there. I failed him."

"No, I failed you both." Thorin's voice screamed in the throaty tone he kept his words steady with. "I'm so sorry I left you behind," he nearly whispered.

"You didn't," Fili stated. "You left Kili behind. I chose to stay."

His uncle nodded weakly. "Still," he tired again, "I was wrong. I should never have left."

"You're right, you shouldn't have. But we can't take them back, our mistakes. You can't any more than I can. Being sorry does not help Kili. It doesn't stop him from being taken."

"No, it does not," Thorin agreed sadly, his eyes dropping to his hands, unable to watch his nephew's face any longer. "But I want you to know that I am sorry. And if I could change what I've done, Fili, I would do anything. I don't ask for your forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I can not make right what I did but-"

"Stop Thorin. Don't. Don't make amends to me like it's too late. Like we won't get him back. I don't want to hear it. I can't," Fili said, his voice wet and tight.

Thorin looked again at Fili's face, the younger dwarf's features were drawn in hurt. "I want him back too Fili. More than anything. It must seem like I've done everything in my power to prove otherwise, but I failed you both once and I will not do it again. You must know that."

"I know I watched my brother dying once. He was dying. You weren't there, you didn't see it but I did. I saw the poison slowly choking him to death. I watched the life draining from his eyes. He was so sick. I thought he was going to die. I thought I was going to loose him. I can't, I can't face that again. I know it doesn't matter what you or anyone else thinks or does, I have to find him."

"But not alone. You can trust that we will be there now. I promise you Fili."

"I can trust in you," Fili repeated quietly, a humorless chuckle falling pass his lips.

"Do you doubt it?" Thorin asked, the hurt plain in his eyes though he hardly had the right to be surprised. He broke that trust.

"You doubt me," Fili answered, meeting his uncle's steel blue eyes without wavering. "I see the way you look at me. You and all the others. Like I might break in pieces, like I might crumble at any moment. But I won't. Kili needs me to stay strong. So I will. I'm not as weak as you believe. I don't need everyone watching me, waiting for me to fall apart. Especially you."

"I know you're not weak," Thorin denied and it sounded true, almost.

"You think I'm fragile. That I could be weak given the chance. Like I'm standing on ice and one wrong word will send me falling. And that's the same thing. You all think that. But you're wrong," Fili shook his head.

There was no answer. None that came forth at Thorin's bidding though he truly tried to refuse his nephew's accusations.

"You can't deny it. You don't need to. It doesn't change anything." Fili said as he stood.

"Fili, I-"

"And," Fili interrupted as he turned to leave, "just don't make any excuses to my, like it's over. Like he's already gone." His voice was soft and pained. "I can't hear them Thorin."

With wet eyes he turned from the fire and his uncle's silent face and walked away.

 **OOO**

The peaks of Mount Gundabad appeared slowly, its tops rising up like daggers against a gray sky. Kili wondered if it would have been better to arrive at night when the darkness would have concealed the eerie gloom and he wouldn't have to see the hateful figure of shadows it cut into the horizon. Instead, his clothes were still damp from dew and cold morning winds crawled over his skin like a frozen flame. The pale, weak sunlight that edged around the dark cloud from the east where they were gathered only reminded him that the dreadful day had just begun, and there was no near break from his misery.

He had realized quick some time ago that he was being taken to Gundabad. The direction alone was all so telling, but more convincing was his captor's undeniable origin. He knew these orcs had come from the mountain, and it wasn't a far stretch to assume they would return there. Bring him alone was only an addition, no doubt a welcomed one by them. Ocrs, unlike most, enjoyed prisoners. They relished the pitiful cries of their dying victims. They savored the sound of painful woes. It was a vile pleasure that was well credited to their race. Kili knew he was being dragged to their home and it was a terrifying thing. He could not quiet the fear that writhed inside of him and he could not stop his mind from wondering what horrors he would face once they got there.

They had traveled for days, out of Mirkwood, over the stony flat lands before the Grey Mountains, through the canyons at their west end, and past the ridges bordering Gundabad. The unrelenting pace and only short respites had been miserable. Kili had been given very little rest, only a few fleeting moments in which he had immediately collapsed to sleep, every time to been jerked awake again shortly thereafter.

He'd had little of almost everything in the past few days besides pain. His hands had remain bound in front of him, a small blessing in itself for it allowed him to use them if only to a limited degree. But they had long ago lost almost all color, turning a gray purple, and his fingers went numb days past. Kili had tried to keep blood flowing in them, but they tingled and burn each time he moved them and it only made the pain in his wrists worse. The ropes binding him had rubbed slowly, day by day deeper into his skin until his wrists were pink and sticky and tender. Every movement stung enough that he couldn't stop his muscle from tensing in pain or a hiss from rising in his throat. His right wrist was worse, dark red showing on the inside where his skin was softer. But it was only one of his concerns, and though painful, only a minor one.

He had eaten very little as well, and always with long spans between. At least water had been give him at bit more liberally. Kili knew better than to believe it was due to any amount of kindness on the orcs part. They were far too cruel for that credit. Perhaps they only wished to keep him alive long enough to reach the mountain. Even so, Kili was grateful for the satisfying gulps of water that always, for a moment, eased away his pain. It had certainly been a miserable few days, and yet Kili found himself dreading the end of their travel.

As they drew closer to the mountain he got a good look at the stronghold for the first time. Its center peak rose over the others in height and its base spanned twice their width. At the center a large, dark mouth led inside the mountain, a weak glow of torch light coming through it. Though it was concealed well, as he got closer Kili could see that the mountain's outside had more to tell of its occupancy besides the entrance. There were places where the rock was too flat, faces that were oddly smooth. In the dark cracks he could see small openings and tunnels leading through the stone walls. They looked almost natural. The orcs had done a good job of hiding them, making them looked like they belonged. It made Kili wonder just how big and extensive Gundabad truly was on the inside. He'd never had a reason to wonder before and even now, he mused, it didn't really matter. But wondering on any aspect of the mount besides the horrors it surely held was a welcomed distraction and one Kili found himself easily drawn to.

He had heard the tales of Gundabad, ancient stories of dwarven heritage being born in its halls. He knew at least that his race had once dwelling within the mountain long ago, and had revered it as something special. It was strangle to know that the dark rock structure before him had once been so prized by his people. It was stranger still that the orcs had been able to so completely rob it of every breath of life it must have had once, and made it so wickedly their own. So many times they had taken what wasn't theirs and destroyed it completely and utterly. But not before they made death look welcoming. Kili could see it now in the bleak figure of stone before him, all darkness and stink. It seemed better if it would just fall, just crumble and die. At least then it would no longer have to stand so broken, so far from its glory, brought so low. How many live had felt the same? How many times did the orcs' victims beg for death? Plead for the end of their torment?

Many. Kili knew that. He had heard it all his life. He had been told of it since his youth. " _It would be better to never be born then come to their hands"_ they would say. But he did not believe that, he could not. Doing so would be giving up before it even began. He would not doom himself to a fate worse than death simply by believing it. No, he would fight until his last breath, not lay down and die. Pain could only last so long. And he could face it, he could survive it. He would have to.

With shaking breaths Kili dragged air into his mouth, pulling strength into his weak limbs and gathering his courage to endure whatever waited for him. He was afraid, more than he have ever been before. A deep terror ached inside of him and his throat burned with panic ready to break forth at any moment. But he was also determined. It pounded in his chest and smoldered in his soul. He would take what was coming to him without breaking and crumbling and dying. And certainly, without begging.

 **OOO**

Bolg, son of Azog the Defiler, savage combatant, captain of his father's northern armies, and keeper of Mount Gundabad's prisons was cruel, wicked, and vicious. He was murderous, brutal, merciless, and bloodthirsty. But he was also intelligent. Surprisingly so for his race and his age. His evil mind twisted in cunning ways. It was the very thing that made him so feared, his capacity for cold intellect. He had dangerously sharp eyes, and frighteningly tactful wit. Enough so, that when his commando returned to Gundabad, dragging a prisoner with them, he knew instantly that they had failed him. He knew before they dare utter a word that Thorin Oakenshield yet lived. This young dwarf they brought to his feet was nothing but an offering to protect their own throats. The dwarf was nothing but an attempt to pacify his rage. But Bolg was not to be subdued.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice chillingly calm and even, though still unable to conceal the anger that blazed in his eyes. The orc nearest Kili, the one that had forced him to his knees at Bolg's feet, now stepped back, pulling away from his leader's furious glaze. It pleased Kili to see the fear in his captors' eyes; a welcomed change.

"One of the thirteen," one of them answered. "We seized him in Lake Town."

"Why did you not kill him with the rest?" Bolg asked, taking long stride in front of them. His frightful stare dared them to lie to him, the savage glean in his eyes almost wanting them to, hoping they would so he could make them answer for it.

"We, we weren't able to kill them all. When we reached them there were only a few."

"How many?"

"This one and three others," the same orc answered timidly.

"And Oakenshield?"

"He was gone."

"You let him get away?" Bolg stopped his spacing and turn on them with a dangerous glare.

"We tried to slaughter him and the rest like you commanded, but he wasn't there! And then the elves came. We were able to grab this one as we-"

"What? Fled?" Bolg now roared, the extent of his rage twisting his ugly features. "Worthless cowards! You have failed me again! I have no need for another prisoner."

Kili watched as Bolg turned to the orcs that were surrounding them and watching the exchange with eager pleasure, his soldiers.

"Kill him," Bolg rested his eyes on Kili. "And them," he said as he glared at the commando pack with disgust.

"But master," one begged, "this one is Oakenshield's kin! His nephew! We have brought him to you!"

Kili felt the air rush pass his teeth and out his mouth. How did they know that? How could they know that? This would make it worse. Azog and his blood hated Thorin and his blood. The pain would be greater. The torture crueler. The misery longer. His connection to Thorin would make him suffer all the more. Kili felt fear crawl up his neck as Bolg's sharp eyes fell on him again.

"His kin?" the orc leader repeated, surprise appearing on his scarred face. He walked to Kili, his steps long and heavy, until he stood before the young dwarf. Kili's nerve begged him to look away, to pull back, to retreat as far as his could in his bonds. But he would not. If a foolish defiance was all he had at his disposal, he would use it to the best of his skill. Forcing his shoulders back and his eyes up, he met Bolg's dark ones with a steady glaze that he hoped did a sound job of hiding his fear. The orc's eyes just stared at him, studying him, sweeping over each of his features with a careful leer. Kili demanded his body to remind still, denying the urge to recoil, refusing to squirm under his gaze.

"Oakenshield's blood does flow in your veins, doesn't it?" Bolg finally spoke again with a satisfied sneer. He could see it in the dwarf's features, the color of his hair, the turn of his mouth, the shape of his brow, the eyes. They were Thorin's. Not so sunken, not so aged, not so heavy. But they held the same intense, sharp gaze that Thorin's wore. There was indeed no question of this one's decent.

Kili had remained so focused on holding Bolg's eyes that he couldn't stop himself from flinching when he felt cold steed press against his throat. Bolg had drawn his sword and forced the point under Kili's chin.

"I could spill Durin blood yet this day," Bolg jeered, forcing Kili's head back with the flat of his blade. "Tell me, why would Thorin leave you behind? Why did you not go with him?" When Kili gave him nothing but a resistant silence Bolg laughed, a snarling, taunting burst. "Do you think you can defy me? Do you think you can save your pride? You are a fool! You can not save yourself anything. Perhaps that's why Oakenshield left you, because you are simple. Or maybe it's because he is a coward? Did he leave you to cover his trail to protect himself?"

"He is not a coward," Kili glared, the blade pressing deeper into his skin with each word. "And he is not afraid of you," he said, his teeth gritted and eyes bright with fury. He was suddenly too angry to be afraid. His weak body ached, and his wounded leg burned but the trembling in his fingers was not from exhaustion or pain. All Kili felt was a rage writhing in his stomach.

"He should be," Bolg growled, twisting his blade so its edge now laid against Kili's neck. "I will make his death slower, and more painful than I'll make yours. A triumphant sneer was the last thing Kili saw before he realized he was about to die.

With a flush of panic he realized there could be no other end to the next minute but his death as the sharp sword edge pressed into his neck. He could feel the pressure against his throat and as it cut open the skin he bit back a cry of pain. He could feel blood gathering, warm and soft as it began to drip down his neck. He couldn't breath. Doing so would push the blade deeper. It didn't matter though. His knew his death was fast approaching. Was he afraid? He didn't know. Sad, angry, yes. He could feel both building with the sharp pressure on his throat. But he hardly had a chance to be afraid now. Kili just held his breath as pain, burning with heat, traveled up to his face and waited for death to come.

But it didn't. Bolg draw back his hand slightly, just enough so his blade was no longing cutting the young dwarf's throat. Kili's eyes rose to the orc's face in confusion and surprise, both emotions though drowned by his relief. He watched as Bolg's expression shifted, the orc's eyes staring at Kili's face again.

He didn't know what to do with him.

Kili could tell. He watched Bolg's mind turn and change as the orc stared at him. Bolg wanted to kill him, of that Kili was sure. He could see it in the utter hatred that shown in his eyes. But he wasn't sure he should.

One moment the orc was determined to end him, his blade again pressing into Kili's flesh. A half second later he was uncertain and pulled away a little. Kili didn't know how many times in a matter of seconds Bolg changed his mind. He wasn't sure how many times he felt the pressure at his throat and the sharp burning. He wasn't sure how many times he choked back a noise of pain. Or how many times he nearly collapsed in relief when the pressure lessened again. Finally the orc leader drew his sword away from Kili and instead grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back with a violent jerk.

"You will live, for now," he snarled, leaning into Kili's face. "I may find a use for you yet." His face was angry, furious that he couldn't justify slaughtering this dwarf who was Thorin's blood. He was too smart to kill Kili without proper thought, but it angered him still. With a noise of satisfaction he drew his foot back and delivered a savage kick to Kili's stomach, sending the dwarf to the ground. "Don't count yourself luck yet," Bolg growl down at him. "You may soon wish for death."

Kili barely heard him over his own gasps for breath as he tried desperately to drag air back into his throbbing lungs. But he did hear him, and his next command.

"Take him to the dungeons." Kili felt himself be gathered from the ground and pulled away from Bolg as the orc turned to the commando group that had captured him.

"You brought me a prisoner when I asked for a head. I will have one."

Kili was pulled too far away to see what happened behind him, but he heard it. The hiss of a sword against air and the unmistakable sound of a head hitting the ground.

* * *

 **So sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know! As always, thank you to all who have reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. I truly mean that. And a special thank you to those who have faithfully reviewed all or most chapters. You guys are amazing :) Thanks for reading, and I hope you all have a wonderful day!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry. I am so sorry for the incredibly, ridiculously long wait. When I posted the last chapter I didn't realize I would get so busy that I had to take a break for the summer. But anyway, I've return and updates should come much more regularly again.**

 **I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (11)** _ **'Where Darkness Abounds'**_

Kili had never before seen a dungeon. They didn't have any in Ered Luin. There were often brawls and of course trouble makers and even the occasional law breaker but nothing that warranted cells to hold a life to punish or torture or eventually kill. Perhaps because they were all wise enough to know they relied on one another to sustain their humble existence in the Blue Mountains. Whether be it their lack of cells or the common standards he was raised with, Kili had never looked to find himself in one.

But despite his previous lack of knowledge, he was now far more familiar with a dungeon than he'd wish to be. He'd seen many as he was dragged through the nearly dark tunnels that were lined with them, one closed, barred door after the next. He couldn't see into them, couldn't see if there was a face and a life trapped behind the stone walls. How many prisoners were held in this mountain? How many others had faced the very terrors and struggles he now faced? There could be dozens just guarded from his sight. Or none.

He hoped there was no one else. No one else to bare the pains and fears he felt clutching his heart and whispering terror into his soul. And yet, the thought of being alone in this place so far from light, so void of safety, so scarce of hope was a lonely one. A part of him didn't want to be the only one there to suffer by himself. There was a small amount of comfort to be had in the idea that if he had to suffer at least it would not be alone. And even if it was selfish, Kili didn't want that little comfort, or the idea of it, to be gone even if it meant others were facing pain too. He wanted to hold to it, cling to it just a bit longer.

The treaded passages they had walked looked worn, beaten by footsteps into smooth stone. The metal of the doors was pale, faded by age not light because there wasn't any. Even the grasps to pry them open were rubbed and worn where many hands had touched them. Everything looked aged beyond reason. Old. But how old? Who had built these dungeons? Had the orcs dug and forged them when they needed somewhere to hold their victims? Or where they built before that, before the enemy stole the mountain away from the dwarves? Had there been a time in the richness of this once grand kingdom's past when the dwarves had dug deep within their depths prisons of stone and iron to keep their threats locked away and their enemies held safely beneath the earth? Had they built the one that now held him?

It was a mocking thought, one that in his misery almost jerked a mirthless laugh from his mouth. Kili's fingers worked their way slowly over the hard surface of the wall, feeling the uneven stones scrape his fingertips. They wouldn't be moved, no matter with how much force he pushed and pounded. He'd tried. Had his own ancient kin place the walls that held him now, the ones that trapped him in his pain and fear away from his family and safely? It was a torturous thought, one that nearly lifted a cry in his chest.

His own dungeon, he'd decided, was the same as all the rest or as near to them as he could guess. There was nothing of particular interest and it emanated an overwhelming sense of darkness and stank. It was miserable. He was miserable, more than he had ever been, and more than he had ever known he could be. His body ached with weakness and his stomach squeezed with hunger. Long ago his throat had begun to burn with thirst, and his dry tongue craved water with a desperation he'd never before felt his body beg with. He leg, still stiff and sore, had healed no more in the nasty dungeon that was his inescapable keeping. With the dark, wet wound remained the pain it brought so readily at each movement. For quite some time his head had throbbed behind his brow, accompanied by frequent lightheadedness brought on, he guessed, by weakness and exhaustion and discomfort. His stomach too ached where the skin and muscle had bruised from Bolg's brutal strike.

Kili often took check of his injures and pains. It was something to do in the long empty hours he was dragged through endlessly. With nothing but darkness and silence there was no indication of time or length of it, but he was certain he had endured his suffering for quite a while. He had shouted enough times to know that silences was all he would get for company. It was a strange mix of joy and heartbreak when he had realized he must be alone. There was no company, no comfort. But also no one else to suffer. Either that or they weren't close enough to hear him. His echo was the only voice that would reach him in this forsaken place. In such a lonely state of despair, counting his injures was a welcomed distraction even if it could never last long enough.

His mouth twisted with a grimace now again as he dragged his foot across the ground in one of his efforts to see if his leg's state had grown any worse or by some far luck better. He groaned with anger when his body tightened and his heart pounded in pain. It was not improved. He could hear the blood drumming in his ears and the handle tap the ground.

The handle of the knife Fili had thrown to him. The one hanging half out of his boot ready to fall out onto the ground. The one that's handle was tapping against the stone floor. The one he had forgotten was there.

In a frantic lunge Kili grabbed the blade from its hidden place in his boot, as though if he did not hurry it would disappear like a hopeful dream. He could see very little in the dark space, but his fingertips quickly confirmed that it was the very blade Fili had thrown to him back in the bargeman's home. His brother's own one. Kili could tell by the complex design patterned on its hilt, and the feel of it in his hand. It was a well crafted blade, made specifically for a prince of Erebor before a treacherous journey. By a prince of Erebor. Fili had made this one himself, Kili had watched him do it. Back in Ered Luin Thorin had taught them what he could at the forges, and while they were neither remarkable blade smiths, Fili had made himself adequate at crafting his knives.

There was very little Kili would not have given at that moment to be back in the forges that warm summer's day before the beginning of their quest. He had leaned again the wall watching Fili at the forge busy about his task of making the very blade in his hand now. He could very nearly still smell the warm flames and hear the ringing of iron and feel the dry breeze cold his hot face. He and Fili had talked that day of the coming journey and their excitement for its adventure. He hadn't known then what he would face. He had known to expect many things, but never this. Never his imprisonment by orcs. Never his torment in their forsaken dungeons. Never his lonely despair, lost in danger and far from the Company. There was very little Kili would not have given to go back to that day now.

Those had been happy times, the days before their quest. Kili had always known happiness did not shimmer and shine of stone and gold. It did not melt in flames. He'd always known it couldn't be held in one's hands, or worn on one's head. It couldn't be sat on as a throne. He knew it couldn't be found where so many looked. For he had known happiness all his life far from any of those things. He had known it back in his small home in Ered Luin with his family. He had known it in the Blue Mountains were he'd grown. He'd known it in the faces of all those he loved. He'd known it in every day that he lived. He's had always been a happy life. His parent had taught he and Fili where to look and together they had learn how to find it. And there would never come a time Kili was not grateful for that.

He had known when he departed for the Lonely Mountain that it was not the destination where he would find joy, but the journey there with those who's company he longed to keep. It, not treasure, was his reason for coming. Yes, he knew happiness did not shine of gold. But he hadn't known sorrow truly was a darkness, a consuming weight that did all in it's power to shut out the light and joy. It had closed in around him far faster than he knew possible.

But this, the blade in his hand was something. It was a little hope, a hidden fortune of fated luck. Kili couldn't remember now how Fili's knife had found its way into his boot. He wasn't sure when he must have slipped it down between the leather and his leg. He didn't know how he or the orcs hadn't found it before. He only knew how fortunate he was that it hadn't fallen out in the water and sank with his sword into the sand bottom. He only knew that while it was small, it was still a weapon and still a chance perhaps at escaping. And that was enough to welcome a scarce smile to his face.

One that couldn't last. It never had a chance in this place. Kili had only time enough to hide his weapon again when he heard the disheartening sound of voices outside his prison. His eyes closed in dread as the door was opened, like they could shut the orcs out. Like perhaps they could keep the suffering away. Like maybe they could stop the pain that was surely coming. He wondered for a moment if perhaps they really could? If he couldn't see his captors or the source of his torment would it lessen the pain and make it all more bearable? Maybe. But he realized as quickly at he shut his eyes that he must open them again. He couldn't meet the coming orcs appearing afraid, even if he was. He would not cower. He wouldn't even let them think he was.

What met his opened eyes was as dreaded as he'd known to expect. Bolg stood before him, the triumphant sneer upon his face sickening Kili instantly. But it was the orc's wicked stare that griped his soul in fear.

"Have you found comfort in your ancestor's chambers?" Bolg asked, closely watching Kili's face change to one of confusion despite his every efforts to remain still. "You are not the first of your kind to be in my keeping," the orc eagerly explained. "Your screams will not be the first to fill these halls."

"Only the first of my line." It was his mouth that said it, Kili could hear his own voice speak the words. He wasn't sure if it was an anger, an old rage from his youth that drew them forth, or the reckless foolishness he was scolded for so often. But the mockery spite from his mouth without heeding.

Fury grew wide in Bolg's eyes and quickly dragged the sneer from his face. "You may be the first of your kin I've brought here, but you are not the first to fall. My father will finish what he started, your line will die by our hand. We'll slaughter them all as my father slaughtered the king."

"My grandfather was slain in battle, but beyond that Azog has done nothing. My family lives still and they will never be yours. You will never bring down those greater than you." Kili knew his words were a blade burying into Bolg. He could see it in the rage that twisted the orc's face and swelled in his voice. But Kili knew it was a two edged blade. Each word drove it deeper into his own body. He was bring fire upon himself. It was only his own anger and pride that kept the fear at bay and kept his tongue so loose. If pain and suffering were to come anyway, why should he keep silent?

"Yet I have Oakenshield's nephew even now you fool," Bolg growled at his face. "You live only because I have not killed you yet. Your kin will fare no better. Oakenshield will die. Your brother will die." Bolg watched with a cruel joy as Kili's face fell in surprise and horror. Bolg knew of Fili too.

The orc eagerly taunted him again, the victorious smile having returned to his face. "I know yours are not the only veins of Durin blood. I know you are not Thorin's heir. Another one, your brother, is to take his throne." He came nearer, so close Kili could smell the foulness of his skin and see the malice in his eyes. "He'll never get to. I will slaughter him first. I'll make it slow, painful. He will bleed and he will scream."

"He'll never give you the chance," Kili promised, his voice thick with emotion and anger. He urged air down his throat, desperately trying to quite the trembling through his body.

"We will see," Bolg smiled. "But you will not. You won't be there. Do not let this brief time fool you, you will die."

He knew that. Kili knew Bolg never meant to spare him. He only wished to use him, if he could. The only reason he was not already dead was because Bolg still wasn't sure what to do with him, if he could do anything with him, if there was any reason in fact not to kill him. There would come a time when the orc deemed him worthless and when that time came he would die if he could not escape first. Kili knew that. And yet, yet to hear the threats spoken against him, to have his life dangled before him as if on nothing but a tread was terrifying. To have his death spoke of as if it meant nothing at all set a chill in his very soul. He didn't want to die.

"You are worthless," Bolg grinned at the fear Kili could not hide in his eyes. "And when the time comes I will enjoy killing you." He came close, close enough to touch Kili. Close enough for Kili to touch him. In that moment he almost drew the knife from his boot and buried it into the orc's heart. His hand twitched in the direction of his foot before he stilled his body. It would do him no good but appease his rage. Several other orcs stood at the door, blades in hand blocking his escape. He could not get away, he would only get himself killed. And while at that moment his fury burned so fierce that he almost thought it would be worth it, he knew it would not. He didn't want to die.

So despite the hatred that inflamed his heart, and the wild desire to slay Bolg there and then, Kili knew he had to bid his precious time and wait until Fili's knife might actually save his life. It took every bit of his strength as he met the orc's malicious eyes and cruel snare not to just end it then, not to sink his blade into the creature's flesh and gut him were he stood. But he couldn't. All Kili could do was defy him with his stare and not cry out when Bolg's booted foot came down on his injured leg. He could only mute his shouts when the orc twisted his heal into his flesh. And he could only trap his screams behind his teeth when Bolg pressed his weight onto his knee. More weight and more pressure until with a sickening rush of pain something in his knee gave. Kili could not, despite his every effort silence the gasp that jerked from his mouth.

With a sneer of triumph Bolg leaned close into Kili's anguished face. "You have not screamed yet, but it will come."

Kili watched through eyes still blurred with pain as the orc retreated from his dungeon cell bring the door shut behind him. He was alone again. In pain and left to suffer. And terribly alone.

 **OOO**

Traveling through Mirkwood was not an easy task. Even alongside the river where it was a bit more clear, branches of foliage still clawed at their every move. The mighty trees heavy with vines shut nearly all light from the forest floor. And as the Company struggle through it the wet ground alongside the water grabbed at their feet. It was a painfully slow and trying effort. They had forgone any attempt to travel further from the riverside where the ground was higher and drier, but so thick with growth that even Bilbo struggled to weave his way through the branches and leaves and roots and vines. They were forced to abandon the high ground and any hope of avoiding the wet river shore, and travel next to the water where they could move a bit faster, though only barely.

Thorin had assumed a place at the front where he hoped to keep a watchful eye. It was difficult with the constant distraction of merely traveling through the sludge without being pulled to his knees. But hadn't this group chosen to follow him again, even after he had failed them all so miserably? Hadn't they left behind all they worked and fought to gain back at the Mountain to come help him recover his nephew? Weren't they again risking their lives to journey with him but this time with no rewards save his gratitude? It was far more than he could ask of them, far, far more than he deserved. Didn't he at least own them the struggle it took to take a lead and do his best to watch for threats and keep them from any that he could? Yes, he believed that he did.

The rest of the Company had fallen into a scattered pattern behind him, all just committed to keeping out of the river on their right and away from the wall of dark growth that looked both capable of and eager to swallow them if their ventured too close on their left as they trekked on. They had traveled for a long time, that they knew. But aside from that vague resemblance of length, they none had any sound meaning for the passing of time. In the depth of Mirkwood, where it was always the same disheartening shade of near dark it was difficult to tell the hour of day. And it didn't help that since entering the forest, the Company had not adhered to any routine determined by the hour. They had continued to travel for as long as they could, only stopping briefly to take a meal and fill their bellies with warmth and catch what sleep they were able before setting out again. It was thoroughly exhausting, draining them all more each hour. But none had protested their unrelenting travel, for they all knew the importance of speed. It could mean the difference. The difference, they all knew, was a life saved or lost. A life they were none willing to loose. And so not one had thought to complain about the tireless march. It was just onward always, all eager to be ride of the dark forest.

And the whole while beating as if it were a pulse in his wrist drummed a string of sorrows, regrets, and fears in Thorin's chest. They echoed in the emptiness of the forest, in his wearily mind when he laid to sleep, in the quiet roar in his ears. So constant, so unrelenting, so inescapable.

Like a heartbeat. He should never, never have left Kili behind in Lake Town. Not when he was sick. No, not for any reason. He knew that and yet his selfishness... Thump.

Like a rhythm. He let his nephew, his young nephew be stolen from him. Taken by the orcs who had already robbed him of most of his family. How could he have let it happen? Greed… Thump.

Like a throb. Now he could only fear what Kili would face at their hands. He could only hope he would reach his nephew in time. He could only fear what would happen if he did not. Could his greed truly cost him everything? It could…Thump.

Like a pulse. Over and over they came. And Thorin could not escape them.

He had never felt such a fear before, such an overwhelming terror clutching every breath he drew. Even his other lost kin he had never worried of like this. They always died before he had a chance to truly fear for them, sometimes even before he knew they were at risk. Before he had a chance to feel anything at all. They were always gone before he could save them. He'd never had the time for his worry to grown inside of him like he did now. There'd only ever been the grief. It was the lone emotion that had followed every loss he had ever known. The only pain he'd ever had the chance, the time to feel. Because he'd always been too late. Before, every one of his loved ones' deaths had come when his back was turned and his eyes where diverted. He'd always been so distracted by his own troubles or fears or pain that he never looked in time to see, never in time to stop it. Every time he'd turn around to find a still body. He'd turn to discover another life gone, lost. And all he'd ever been able to do as their blood grew cold in their veins and his tears came heavy and new was feel the grief wash over him in great waves. He was always too late

And Thorin had always believed that was the most painful part of his ill fate, that it was the cruelest strike of his misfortune, that those he loved were taken without giving him the opportunity to save them first.

But this time, this time it was different. This time there was something there'd never been before, a chance. And it was a good thing, was it not? He had a chance to save Kili and nearly everything inside Thorin told him he should be grateful beyond measure and joyful beyond reason.

But now suddenly, with fear not just grief plaguing his every breath, he began to wonder if this wasn't somehow worse. Death was sure and final. But this? It was torturous. The worry was constant and agonizing. The fear so continuous. He wanted to save Kili, more than he had ever wanted anything. But with the opportunity to do just that came the same opportunity to fail. And the thought of it was so painful Thorin could feel his very hands tremble when it came. What if he could not save Kili? What if he still couldn't stop him from…dying…?

The blow would be worse. Much, much worse. The agony, the misery, the grief would be unbearable. He'd been given a chance to save his nephew, but if he could not the pain would be far worse than if he'd never been given a chance to hope at all. Thorin had lived long enough, through hard enough to know that hope was not just fragile. Hope was dangerous. Each moment he grasped for it, clung to it, he was climbing higher and higher from despair and sorrow. And it meant the fall back down to them would be longer, harder, more painful.

But the alternative, denying the hope and giving up on Kili was something he couldn't do. It was something he could never face.

So Thorin could only struggle with his fears and pain, only wrestle with his guilt and claw for breaths of release in spare, quiet moments during their travel. It was something he had learned to do, not from desire but necessity. In the depths of pain and the darkest of times he had taught himself to reach for a few calm seconds, to find a breath of relief even if there wasn't one. It was those moments, gasps of peace in his heart, as fleeting and brief as they may be, that kept him steady enough to keep going. They only came when he willed away everything else, when he refused to let the fullness of terror and pain reach him. And though those blessed empty moments were never able to push away every doubt and worry completely, it was enough to gather his strength again, to ready himself for more.

It was during those times when he could no longer bare to think of Kili or the suffering he was undoubtedly facing that Thorin let his thoughts and eyes travel else where. It had become his habit, whenever his guilt and worry grew too overwhelming, to watch everything looking for any distraction. He would watch the forest's darkness for life. He would watch the river's water bubble along the muddy edge. He would watch his Company tread on at his sides, quiet and somber. Thorin wondered, as he watched them all move so painfully slowly with such effort and in such grim silence how long they could remain in Mirkwood's forest. And how much it was effecting them already. He was almost certain he could feel its effects upon him now, like a weight inside him slowing his senses. And as time crept on he wanted more and more desperately to be gone from the forest and its enchanting curses.

Perhaps it was a bewitchment which dulled his hearing and kept him from recognizing the low hum of voices behind him at first. It took Thorin a long while, like the thought was climbing to him through smoke, to finally noticed that the noise at his back was someone speaking quietly, though just loudly enough to make out. Gandalf.

He was walking next to Fili and his face wore the only look of the whole Company that couldn't be called grim. "They once called this forest Greenwood the Great. It was a pleasant place I think, though now it is far from it. Yet, there is a peace to it I suppose. A quiet stillness, don't you think?"

"Strange and uneasy. I'll be glad to be rid of it," Fili said tightly.

Thorin did not disagree. He too was eager to be gone from the forest. He could feel the thick weight of illusion and disorientation in its very air. And yet he did not believe it was the reason for his nephew's slumped shoulders or distant gaze.

"Well I doubt very much that you'll be seeing any spiders again this occasion. There is not so much to fear if you stay on the path," Gandalf said.

"I'm not afraid."

"Ah," the wizard conceded with a nod, "I thought not. You are in a hurry."

Fili looked at him as if madness had at last taken Gandalf the Grey. "Of course," he said shortly, his patients gone for whatever game the wizard was playing.

"I'm afraid we can not go any faster. But I can't say that I blame you. You must be eager to be rid of this quiet and all the chance for thought it offers."

"Thought?"

"Yes, we've all spent too much time doing it in here I am sure. I think perhaps it's the greatest danger within this forest. It leaves one's mind to itself. And I doubt you, young friend have had every many pleasant ones as of late?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Dark thoughts can be painful even if they are so obvious we can expect them."

"Obvious?"

"Your brother."

"What else is there?"

"You."

Fili turned to the wizard with a sharp look of confusion.

"Worry for another does not mean you can neglect yourself Fili, though you have been doing a fine job of it." Gandalf explained. "It wouldn't do to have you collapse from exhaustion."

"I get as much rest as anyone else." Fili insisted, desiring to end Gandalf's attempts at leading his mind to self concerned thoughts. He had no room for them. And no strength to maintain them.

"That is not what I mean. Your mind, I suspect, is far closer to collapse than your body. You can not spend all of your time fearing for Kili. It won't help him, or yourself. It will only tire you more."

"How can you tell me not to fear when Kili is even how the orcs' prisoner? How can you tell me to think of myself?" Fili opposed in a hard voice he recognized as anger.

"You are mistaken. I worry that you think of yourself too much."

"No," the word fell hard and clear from Fili's shaking head. "You're wrong. I can think of nothing but my brother." He watched the wizard, his eyes wide and bright with anger that now rushed through his body. How dare Gandalf imply that Kili meant so little to him. How dare he accuse him of being so self consumed when the very fears for his brother had been clutching his heart for days.

"Are you so certain?" Gandalf questioned with a doubtful gaze. "What of your guilt? Is that not your own?"

Fili gave him a stunned start. He did feel guilt, so much of it, tugging on his heart constantly. He hadn't realized it tugged on his features too for all to see. But was it really his and his alone? Did he truly have control over the regrets weighing upon his every breath? Maybe his did. Maybe he could silence it if he tried. But he knew he couldn't separate the guilt and grief. One came with the other, and even if he was able, Fili wouldn't free himself from the grief even to be rid of the guilt. It would be like deciding that Kili meant nothing to him at all. And that was a lie.

"Come now Fili," Gandalf urged, "I have lived long enough to know guilt's burden when I see it. You blame yourself for what has happened to your brother."

"I don't. Not for all of it…just…" his words grew quiet. Not all of it. Not the orcs, or the dragon, or the wound in Kili's leg that caused him to fall into the water. Fili didn't blame himself for all of it. Only some. "I can hear his voice calling to me, pleading for me to help him. But I never did," He said quietly.

"Didn't you try?" Gandalf asked as if it were truly a question needing an answer.

"Of course," Fili said sharply, his voice nearly breaking in pain. "Of course I tried," he whispered, "but he's still gone."

"Then what could you have done?"

He didn't know, he wasn't sure. For days Fili had tried to find his mistake, to identify where he had made his error. He hadn't yet found it, but it was there. He knew that it was. For there was always something he could have, should have done differently. There was always something he could have done to save his brother.

"Something."

"You did all you could lad," Bofur's voice broke in softly from their side where he'd chosen to walk near them when he could not longer keep silent. "I saw it. You nearly died trying to saving him."

Without thinking Fili's left fingers slowly curled into his palm, feeling the burned skin sting from his fingertips up his arm. Was it enough? He had tried to save Kili. He'd gotten injured doing it. But was it enough to banish the guilt? Was it truly enough to cleanse his every waking moment of the remorse that clung tight to his memory? When all he had to show for his effort was a scalded palm it did not seem like enough.

"You can't blame yourself Fili. I was there too and none of us could stop it from happening. It's not your fault." Bofur tried again.

"I know…but,"

"But yet you bare such weight on your shoulders," Gandalf told him with a voice of sureness.

"He's my brother," Fili breathed. "How could I not?"

"Perhaps there is no way," the wizard concede. "But that is not the point. Though it will try, you must not let it break you, for your sake and his."

Fili swallowed the pain in his throat and nodded, blink the wetness from his eyes that had gathered without his notice.

"Still," Gandalf said watching him closely, "there is no need to forge strength. There is not reason to try and hide your pain from us."

"I'm not trying to hide it," Fili shook his head. "I'm trying to shut it out. It's like an ache. Sometimes so strong I can hardly breath. Sometimes I'm not sure if I can take it." It was a painful thing, so constant inside of him that he had to fight to keep his breaths coming stead always, to keep them from trembling over his tongue.

Gandalf watched him in silence for a few moments.

"You know pain is not a sign of weakness young Fili. It takes a certain strength to care so much."

"Then why don't I feel strong? Why do I feel as though I've been ripped in half? Do you know how it feels-"

"Fili," Gandalf stopped him, "do not move." It was the urgencies rather than the demand that stilled Fili so quickly. For he did not see it at first when he should have. There, a few easy feet from his temple was the fatal end of an arrow. And around him the rest of the company stood unmoving just as trapped as he. Elves.

* * *

 **I hope you liked this chapter. Please let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (12)** _ **'Prisons of Panic and Pain'**_

The last time he'd been thrown into Mirkwood's prisons seemed like months, nay years ago. Like an entire lifetime had unwoven between then and now. So long ago it seemed when everything was different. When everything was not so utterly wrong. Fili had had his part to play in the mistakes, in the failures their journey abounded so plentifully with. His had been a pivotal role in the events that drove them so far from their intended outcome, where they were meant to be safely inside Erebor's walls. Fili knew he was not without fault, far from it. His was not a clear conscious or peaceful mind. Still, he now realized that all fault could not be help in his hands, it could not all be laid on his shoulders. For he had come to understand when they were all a second time captured by the elves in Mirkwood that even fate opposed them. A helpless, overwhelming feeling indeed. What was he to do when ill winds always blew against them? What was he to do when misfortune threw itself before their every footstep? When disaster met them at every turn? When cruel luck chased them down without ceasing? What could he do?

Try. It was the only thing he knew to do. It was the only thing that kept him pushing always onward. The only thing that fed the fragile flame of hope burning in his soul. It was so close so often to fading in the shadows they walked though. To dying in the flood of despair that rushed towards him so frequently. But it burned on enduring and steady because to cease to try was failing already, and Fili could not fail. Not when the price of failure was more than he could pay. Not when the imagine of failure would be a lone crypt. Not when the sound of his failure would be his brother's last breath. No, Fili knew he must keep trying.

So when the elves had marched them back to Thranduil's halls Fili had not gone quietly. He did not go gently without a fight. He companions had insisted that he not struggle so, that he not contend with such force and curses. Thorin told him he should not spend all his strength on a gainless effort that only drew anger to himself. But it was not their brother stolen by orcs. It was not an attempt to save their brother that continued to be delayed and challenged. It was not their brother that would face a painful death if time did not fall on their side. And since fate had not fallen on their side the whole of their journey, they could hardly expect it to now. Every moment, every second could bare a life upon it, and Fili was tried of wasting a single one.

He could feel rage and fear begin a tremble in his fingers that quivered up his hands and settled in the very beat of his heart. He could feel it clutching his gut, wringing his stomach into unmanageable knots. Each moment he was not moving towards his brother was a waste and another grain of sand in a timer's glass he couldn't get back. Each one was a grain on the scales tipping between Kili's life and death. Each wasted minute cast more weight onto the side of death and further weaned Kili's chances to life. Fili could feel the terror of that thought close in around him as surely as the prison he was led to. He could not simply let it happen, could not just let Kili die.

His eyes were burning with furious tears by the time he was shut into a Mirkwood cell once more, his resolve quickly crumbling around him. "You can not leave me in here!" His shout was met by a passive glance from the nearest elf. If sympathy was at all present, the dark haired guard hid it well. "Set me free! He'll die, he's going to die!" Fili's entire body trembled with rage and grief as he jerked on the prison bars with a wild yank. His frantic shouts meant nothing to those who didn't know what he spoke of, and yet to him they felt like the only thing that mattered, the only thing that meant anything at all.

"Calm yourself, Fili." Gandalf appeared on the other side of the bars. He alone among the Company had not been treated as a prisoner, or been held as such. The group of elves had seemed rather surprised to find the wizard among the dwarves, and equally uncertain about what they should do with him. They had in the end chosen the wisest option, which was to do nothing at all. They had not touched or detained Gandalf in any way, and instead had offered him free passage to go as he pleased. It had been his choice, not a blade at his back, that lead him to Thranduil's kingdom. He had chosen to follow along with the Company when he could not convince the elves to free them. As much at they feared the wizard's wrath, it seemed they feared their king the more. So, by his own voluntary will Gandalf had followed the elves and Company all the way down into their prisons despite the wary looks it caused between the elven guards. He alone had not been locked into a cell, and had instead been left still free to go as he wished.

"All will be well. I am certain the Elvenking can be convinced to release you all at once. It will only take some persuasion," Gandalf mumbled with thought, "and perhaps a bit of stubbornness myself. He is indeed far too thick headed at times. But I will speak with him and make him see reason."

"Each moment we are delayed is another moment Kili is in their hands, facing their tortures. We cannot leave him to it for long. He can't survive it." Fili's fury had calmed to a hoarse plead. "Please hurry."

"I promise you I will do my very best." Gandalf assured as he turned to the nearest guard. "You, I need to speak to your king at once."

"I, I'm not sure he will speak with you." the guard hesitated.

"It was not a request I assure you. Take me to Thranduil immediately." The wizard's raising voice and pointed stare left no room for question or protest and the uncertain elf was wise enough not to argue the demand further.

"This way."

Gandalf offered Fili an encouraging glance once more as he followed the elf escort out of the prisons.

 **OOO**

Sleep was the only escape Kili was offered, and yet even it came rarely, lasted briefly, and fled quickly. And neither was it the deep rest his body needed, but a depthless sleep that crept in when his exhaustion became too much. But even a shallow lapse of nothingness was welcomed thought it could do little to easy the pain in his body, for it offered his mind a treasured few moments of peace. A retreat from his own thoughts was the most helpful refuge. And for that, Kili was willing to pay much more than the stiff soreness that always greeted his waking. There was little comfort to be found within his cell anyway. He was grateful for the scant empty minutes when he did not have to think at all, when he did not have to dwell on his fears and pain. They were among the only moments of peace he had discovered since being thrown into the stone prison.

There was much pain to dwell on if he let himself. His leg that Bolg had trampled on served to offer the majority of his discomfort. It was an ever present ache that protested each time he moved it even slightly. Agony tore its way through the leg each chance it got. And even his sight grew unsteady when he was overwhelmed by the pain. He was somehow fortunate, he guessed, that it had been his already injured leg that Bolg chose to trend on. At least it was only that lone limb that was now crimpled and mangled. If it had been his other knee that was crushed he would have no chance of even standing. Any form of walking would be beyond hope. At least this way perhaps he had not lost all mobility.

Kili guessed he was fortunate, though he did not feel it. Could it truly be called luck that he had suffered injure on a particular limb? Could it really be called favor that dealt him new pain upon existing agony? He hardly believed that it could. Yes, it could have been worse, Kili knew that. But that didn't mean it couldn't have been better too. True luck would have spared him entirely wouldn't it? No, this was not true fortune that Bolg had injured his already injured leg, only poor chance dropped with a less forceful hand. Which, if he was fair could be called luck in its owe standing.

Kili had always been called favored. Since his earliest memories his mother told him luck was on his side. She said even the skies smiled at him because he was always so ready to smile back. He hadn't realized until years later what she truly meant. That it wasn't his good fortune that made him smile, but his smile that brought him good fortune. That is was his eager, pleasant attitude that made his every action, every encounter lean in his favor. Dis had always believed one made their own luck. She had known it was true ever since she watched greed and madness, not fate, steal everything from her family. It was then, when she was robbed of so much and so many that she understood the truth. You could not always stop the hammer from falling or choose where it struck, but you could choose how it stuck you, what it destroyed, and what you kept safe held close to your heart. Her grandfather, the king, let it strike his entire family. He let the blow crush them all and destroy many because he was blind. It was Thorin that had kept the rest of them safe and held them close when they were all so near to falling to pieces. Dis had learned that life was a constant effort to aim the destruction far enough away from you to survive. It did not mean one could stop the bad from coming, for Dis would surely have saved many if it were possible, but one chooses the way they take the blow. Luck was made not given.

And Kili had always been skilled at making his luck she'd said. But now, locked in an orc dungeon, he was not at all certain it was ever true. What but utterly terrible fortune would have abandoned him here? Dis would say greed, namely Thorin's. She would sooner blame her brother for her son's suffering than the orcs that delivered it to him. Because they all knew the orcs to be cruel and selfish and greedy, she would say. They knew to expect nothing less than the horrors shown to be the orcs' ways over lifetime after lifetime. But Thorin should have known better. He should have known where selfishness would lead them all. Dis would blame Thorin. Kili could very nearly hear her chasten now. But she would be wrong, or partly. Kili knew so much of the blame fell upon himself. Far more than his mother would give him credit for. His mistakes would not be ignored, most especially by himself. They fueled his regrets more than others' mistakes fed them, which was proof enough of their soundness. He could not blame this on anyone but himself, including Thorin.

Thorin. Kili rolled the name over again in his head. He wasn't sure when he had gotten so used to using it. Thorin, not uncle. When he was a child it was always uncle, always a mention of family and closeness, always a figure that meant more than a title to the young dwarf prince. Kili could remember eagerly calling to his mother's brother when he was small, running on still unsteady legs to greet him after a long absence. It was one of his earliest memories. He and Fili would race down the hillside in front of their home and pass the fields of grasses to meet Thorin at his return. They never thought to call him anything but uncle. They'd once been so fond of the title.

Kili didn't know when that had changed. Now wondering back he wasn't sure when they had abandoned their constant use of calling their uncle by his relation, when they began to instead address him by the title that identified him as king and not only family. Was it when he and Fili no longer believed they wanted to be children and thought perhaps by addressing Thorin more formally as something other than their mother's brother, he would see them as more than his young nephews and in turn treat them as the warriors they desired to be? Was it when talk of the Quest began and they wished to be noted among the capable and accomplished, when they felt they could not afford to be seen as young or dependent for fear of being left behind? Or was it after the journey had already begun, when the misfortunes and the hardships began to pry them from the closeness they had once felt for their uncle, when greed and arrogance wedged its way between the nephews and their kin and it was no longer fitting to use the familiar term of fondness that did not suit the bond as it once had?

Kili wasn't sure. But still it was a troubling thought. He'd always been taught to value family above all else, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had forgotten to remembered that when it was most important. He knew now, when he never had before, that to be without those you loved was to be lost. And it was to be afraid.

He was afraid. It was no longer a roar of terror, but a constant chant inside his heart. It did not cease. It did not ease. It did not decrease at all, ever. It stayed as it was constant and consuming. A small voice that sounded much like his own whispered to him, taunted him, mocked him. It manipulated his thoughts and squeezed out every pleasant one as quickly as it appeared. It choked out the hope and crushed the encouragement. And it was that, not the presents of fear but the lack of hope that was the true cause of his deep, quiet terror. Kili knew where there was no hope there was no chance. And he feared that the hushed, contrary voice would creep upon him when he was too exhausted to look, that it would close in around him when he was too weak to stop it, and that despair would take him when he could not fight it away. Then there would be nothing but his death waiting for him. No, he could not let that happen.

"Get up!" Kili scrambled to attention when he heard the voices again outside his cell. He sat up as well as he could while still protecting his injuries from the pain that came each time he moved too much and too quickly. The door of his prison opened and three orcs stepped inside, none of them he recognized as significant. Kili stared at them in silence, refusing to ask the question they wanted to hear. They didn't just want him to question the purpose of the visit, but they wanted to hear fear in his voice when he did.

"It's time to go." The orcs closed in around him, loosened his shackles, and jerked him to his feet. A groan of pain rose in Kili's throat as weight fell upon his damaged leg. He could not walk, he could hardly stand as his sight clouded. He hadn't eaten or stood for too long, and pain quickly overwhelmed him. So it was by dragging that the orcs moved him along out of his prison and down the dungeon's halls.

"Where," his dry lips struggled to form the words, "where are you taking me?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, couldn't silence his curiosity or louder, his fear.

The creature on his right looked at him with a gleeful smirk. "Bolg wants you."

If Kili had ever hear more alarming words, he couldn't name them. He had been in the orc leader's presence before, had met his terrible eyes before, had endured his cruelty before but this was different. And worse. He knew it would be. Bolg wasn't seeking him out for more entertainment to mock him and further taunt him. This time he was calling Kili to him, bringing him into his presence, and taking away even the small safety of his prison cell. The difference this time was an intention, a purpose, and no doubt a horrible one.

Kili had known this would come. He'd known Bolg would not merely let him die quietly. He'd known suffering, more of it, was coming. And he thought he had prepared himself for it. During his captivity he had worked to strengthen his resolve, to build his courage, to hearten his will. He would need them. And he'd felt that boldness each time he defied Bolg. Each time he refused to shrink and coward he showed his fortitude. Or he'd thought. But now suddenly it all fell away like a withered leaf, crumbling under the weight of his fear. And Kili was left to wonder if he had really ever been strong. If he'd ever been brave. Or if he'd only thought it. If it had never been more than his hopes and wishes, delusions flourishing in the lack of hardship to test them. Was this really the truth? Revealed in the depths of his greatest terror? Proven where all doubt was forced to flee? Was he nothing but a coward?

Now was the time to see, Kili realized as he was dragged into an open space where Bolg stood in the center. Now was the time to test himself. Now was the chance to prove himself. Or not.

Bolg watched the young dwarf prince approach with a stiff mien. His hands were clasped at his back and he did not move until Kili was dropped at him feet. Only then did he begin a slow, wide pace around his prisoner. He studied Kili's weak body, thrown onto his hands and knees, his face pale and gaunt, his arms shaking under his own weight. Bolg eyed the injures adorning Kili's body, the seeping wound on his thigh, the swollen and twisted turn of his knee, the various bruises and cuts that littered his flesh…and nothing more. Bolg had not been given the chance, the time, the opportunity to work his usual art of torture on his young prisoner. He was skilled at making it slow and intricate. He was masterful as finding his victim's weak point. All had one. He was creative in his methods, and effective in his approach to torment. Bolg was well practiced in the craft. But with this prisoner at his feet he had not been able to inflict the usual suffering. Caught up in the preliminary tasks of a coming attack on the Lonely Mountain, he'd been distracted and occupied. He had every intention of destroying the line of Durin, of finishing what his father had begun so long ago, and winning the favor of his father in the process. But that went beyond one young dwarf in his prisons. Bolg had to keep his focus on the true enemy, the true strength he opposed. And that lay far from him inside Erebor.

So he'd not had the opportunity to entertain himself at the expense of Thorin's nephew. The dwarf had been left nearly unharmed, or at least much more than Bolg preferred. At first glance if angered him. Thorin's blood, of all lives, deserved to suffer. But then perhaps, Bolg began to wonder, it could be used in his favor. Kili was young and still weak, still untempered by the cruelty of the world. Perhaps he would prove to be forthcoming if he was promised mercy. He had not been tortured yet so maybe the fear of it would loosen his tongue. Threats of pain far beyond what he had known might crush his stubbornness. He was still young after all, and afraid.

"You wonder why you are here," Bolg said at last, watching as the dwarf prince's head lifted at the sound of his voice. Kili met the orc's eyes as the creature continued to circle him in wide passes. Bolg didn't draw so close this time as he had before, he didn't leer in his face, didn't taunt him. This was not merely more threats. Bolg wanted something, more than just fear from Kili this time. The orc's eyes flashed with malice, and his lips twisted into a foul smirk.

"It is time to prove your worth."

 **OOO**

For all the bad blood between the Elvenking Thranduil and Thorin Oakenshield that pulsed in the Forest River from Mirkwood all the way to the Lonely Mountain, they shared many similarities. Thranduil had known loss too. His had not been a troubleless life, or a peaceful reign. Long before he wore his father's crown he knew the weight of it. He had watched darkness creep in around them during his father's rule. He saw the evil slowly draw closer until there was nowhere for them to go. Until there was no choice but to fight. It had been a brave heart, and strong hand, and a fierce love for his people that had driven Oropher into battle. But it had not been enough. Thranduil still remembered well the night before his father's fall, the late hours where his soon coming end was written into stone by a rash decision of passion and courage. Thranduil remembered the fear he had failed to voice that night, the unease he had kept to himself, and the lifetime of pain it would prove to cause.

His father was impatient for a victory he was sure would be theirs. It had been his idea to charge early, to rush the enemy before they instead were attacked. It was not his decision to make and yet he did, late that night where there was none to bid him wisdom. There were enough that would follow him, enough loyal unto death to their king. And so when morning came it was Oropher who had lead the early charge that would be his own downfall. He had rushed in first, meeting his death on the ill fated battlefield of his own making. There on the plains of Dagorlad Thranduil watched his father die. It was then that he became the king of his father's people, and there where he watched many of them die before he had a chance to lead them to safety. That day his life was changed. It did not matter that their alliance later won the battle for Thranduil had already lost so much, more than could ever be won back.

It was with the same hand that fate dealt both he and Thorin their reign. After a devastating battle the elves turned to Thranduil, a young ruler and a new king for answers. He lead them North, far from the battlefield, far from their pain, and far from the rest of the world that had caused it.

It was forever painful after that day to turn his eyes South to the direction and memory of the horrors that stole his beloved father from him. But deep in Mirkwood sheltered from the world eventually Thranduil did find joy again. He found a bride whom he loved with every breath. And in their happiness they brought forth a child, a son, in whom all of their joy was found. But then that happiness too was taken from him. His wife was taken from him, ripped by death from his desperate hands and Thranduil was left with a weeping son and a bleeding heart. He decided then that he would no longer put such hope in his own happiness, that perhaps it was not worth it. If he found it then it could be taken from him again. He chose instead to care for his son and his people and leave the search for joy to a later time when he no longer had so many things to care about, when he no longer had so many things that could be taken from him.

That was why the more greed Thranduil saw growing in Thror's eyes, the further he retreated from the dwarf king's side. Thror would not listen to his warnings, he would not heed his counsel. So Thranduil drew his people further from the danger he could see swelling in the Mountain. The dwarf king betrayed all reason, all sense, and all thought to not only his own people, but that of everyone else's also. It was a true betrayal, in every sense that mattered. And for that, Thranduil could not forgive him. He could not forget the danger Thror brought upon them all when his greed drew a fire drake out of the North. Even still, that was not the reason he left the dwarves without aid when the dragon did come.

When he stood on the ridge overlooking Dale aflame and the battered dwarves fleeing the ruin they brought upon themselves, he had turn away. Not because of his anger at their foolishness. Not because of the gems, the heirlooms, that Thror had tricked from him and refused to return. Not because he despised the stubborn pride of the dwarf race in its entirety. But because Thranduil remembered his father, and the rash bravery that had killed he and his people. He remembered the night before his father's death and the way he had ignored reason to follow Oropher into a battle he knew they shouldn't fight. Standing on the overlook before Dale Thranduil knew this was no different. This was a fight they could not win. He would not make his father's mistake and condemn his men to a death that wasn't theirs, a death brought by nothing more than the greed of dwarves. Yes, he had turned away from Thorin that day, and he had never regretted it. His people were still alive. With them he had built a life worth living away from the rest of the world and its struggles. Here he had collected the things that mattered to him and kept them close and out of harm's reach. And he would not loose them now. Nor would he forget what had been stolen from him in the past. All he had was hard fought and hard won. He had earned his claim to them all, so he would not be intimidated. Not even by a wizard.

"Gandalf the Grey," he said from his throne as the wizard approached, "I did not look to find you in my halls this day."

The wizard acknowledged him with a nodded before answering. "Nor did I. And neither, in fact, did any of those dwarves."

"Then they should not have come traipsing across my boarders, again," Thranduil said simply. He had not been wrong to capture the dwarves. He didn't believe he was mistaken in his judgment. They had dared to invade his lands even after their last journey through the forest and its consequences.

"They did not do it to taunt or test you."

"I don't care for their reasons. Their purpose matters not to me," the Elvenking said, his disinterested stare reinforcing that it was indeed true.

"Does it matter that it was I who sent them the first time, I who travel with them now?" Gandalf questioned as frustration unraveled his attempt to remain calm. Impossibly stubborn, that was how he had come to know the king of Mirkwood. His arrogance and pride were second to none, save perhaps Thorin's. And that, Gandalf knew, was a greater cause of their discord than either of them wished to acknowledge.

"If that is true," Thranduil spoke with a disdainful flown, "then it seems perhaps my hospitality towards you is unearned if you think so liberally of my lands."

"I have no time for peaty offenses Thranduil," Gandalf reproved, "We are on a most urgent errand. I insist you release those dwarves immediately."

"You are free to go. As for Thorin, I have unfinished business with him. He will remain in my keeping until he gives me what I desire."

"This is not a chance to avenge old grievances. You must release them all at once!" Gandalf no longer looked to diplomacy for success. He should have known Thranduil would be too contrary to listen to reason. He and Thorin were much too similar, and both much too stubborn even when they most shouldn't be.

Thranduil rose from his throne with a burning glare. "You will not come here and demand my obedience. I generously spared you a prison wizard. I suggest you leave before I change my mind."

"I am not leaving without those dwarves."

"Then you may have to wait a lifetime for Thorin's stubbornness to yield. For this time I will get what is mine to have. And you will not stop me, no matter your requests."

Gandalf shook his head wildly in aggravation. "Then you are a stubborn fool Thranduil!"

The Elvenking turned sharply to face the wizard. "How dare you enter my kingdom and offer insults. I own you and those dwarves nothing, Oakenshield least of all. He has already denied my what is mine when last he intruded my lands. What loyalties do I own him? Why should I release him?"

"Because this is a matter of life and death Thranduil. Even you can not ignore that plead."

Thranduil drew back slightly, his face changing to a look of thought for a few long moments. "How do I know this is true. How do I know you have not made this story in Thorin's stead because you know he will not comply?"

"Speak with him yourself if you doubt my word. I am sure he will be willing to reason this time," Gandalf sighed.

"You should hope you are right wizard. If you're mistaken, Thorin will remain in my prisons for as long at it take. And this time he will not escape."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and have a wonderful day :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**I promise I do not make you wait so unbelieveably long for an update on purpose. But all the same I apologize. Anyway, here it is finally and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (13)** _ **'A Fool's Pride'**_

Being lead like a prisoner to a cell, though regrettably familiar to the others, was a new and unpleasant experience for Bilbo. He much preferred the role he had excellently take up during their last visit to Mirkwood. One which agreeably avoided him the wrong side of a prison door. Though he considered himself a honorable and respectable hobbit, he did find that he was more suited to the part of a burglar than detainee, and more apt at freeing prisoners than being one himself. He was not one to wait around for help and found his inability to do anything else the most trying part of his keeping in Thranduil's halls. His own impatience surprised him given he had always considered himself to be well collected and reasonable. But then, he had never before been shut up in a prison and force to depend on others for his own freedom. Gandalf at least had been left undetained and that was reason for hope. Perhaps he would be able to negotiate their release, or if that proved failing, then maybe their escape. Bilbo hoped desperately that the Elvenking could be reasoned with despite the tales of his stubbornness. The stories had not all held entirely true before, after all.

Bilbo had once been told that the elves of Mirkwood were less wise than their relations dwelling outside of the dark forest. It had, in fact, been Gandalf that had said it, and Bilbo had not yet found any good to come of questioning the wizard's judgment. But even if he would not perhaps say so to his face, Bilbo found that he did indeed disagree with Gandalf's account of the Mirkwood elves. It did not seem at all to him that they lacked wisdom, but something else entirely. It had become quite clear to him that those who believed these elves were unsound in their thinking were very mistaken. For the one thing Bilbo had gathered during his forced time in their presence was that their sharp eyes saw much and they listened more than they spoke, a combination ideal for attaining knowledge. After all close attention lent wisdom much.

The honest mistake could be made, Bilbo decided. And maybe it would not be so difficult to confuse these elves' strange nature with a lack of intelligence. But a mistake still it would be. It was hard to sight right at first why they seemed so unlike the rest of their race whose grace and intelligence was so strikingly obvious. Because the more he watched them, the more certain Bilbo became that they most definitely had an abundant share of both. He finally realized after much pondering, given there was little else to do in his cell and little else to occupy his mind, that it was tolerance and perhaps empathy that they were so lacking in.

He was not foolish enough to expect the elves to pity their prisoners, but it was their complete indifference to the Company's situation that struck him as cold. They couldn't of course know the particular direness their dwarf prisoners faced, but the troubling nature of the Company's efforts couldn't possibly be missed by the elves whose keen senses they were known for. It had to be obvious then, Bilbo concluded, that theirs was an urgent errand and pressing matter and he wasn't sure how they could so easily ignore it. Their empathy, had there ever been any, had long disappeared. Bilbo found these elves to be severe and perhaps unfeeling, but still not unwise.

Their tolerance it seemed, or lack of it, stemmed from a king who harbored deep distrust for the dwarven race in its entirety. That much was obvious. Bilbo knew of the greatly strained, if not completely forgone, relations between the dwarves of Erebor and elves of Mirkwood. He knew it was nothing but a fragile thread tight with tension and ever stretching. There was very little but animosity and distrust bridging the two kingdoms, and a history bleeding of betrayal that would not soon be forgotten to quickly wash away all else that could mend the broken ties. Or so it had been told by the Company. It was their opinion, it would seem, that Thorin and Thranduil could not be reconciled even if they were willing. It was their belief that far too much had happened and far too much time had passed to erase what had been done and forget what had been said. Some hurts, some betrayals could not be undone. They said.

But Bilbo wasn't sure if he believed that. Or at least, if he always believed that. Surely there were times and circumstances where forgiveness was an option even if it was a painful one. He knew it was not always easy to forgive and often much harder to forget, but sometimes forgiveness was the only wise choice left. And sometimes when one has already looked everywhere else there is no where left to turn but to the grace of someone you once wronged. He had come to know it was a powerful thing, and something all would be wise not to forget. But the question remained, was it always a choice? Was it always an option? Or was the Company right, were there some blows impossible to recover from? Were there some wounds that would never mend? Were there some betrayals that even the best couldn't forgive?

As he sat trying to still his constant fidgeting in his cell, Bilbo found it curious that their fate would come to depend on the answer to that very question, if indeed an answer did exist. For when Thorin was summoned before the Elvenking and led away to barter for their freedom, Bilbo could not but wonder if they were doomed a second time to the stubborn ire of Thorin's bitterness. Or if for the sake of his nephew's life he could put aside his grievances in favor of forgiveness, or at the every least peace. Bilbo feared that if Thorin could not, then bitterness had already doomed them all. But it was Kili who would soonest pay the price.

 **OOO**

Pride was a stubborn thing. Its roots dug deep against the whims of reason that came prying at its hold. And its heels dug in most when the humbling fall to its knees would be the furthest. No one liked to fall. So when the plunge from vanity to humility was the greatest that's when pride gripped tightest. Thorin had felt its firm hold nearly all his life. He'd never had a reason to try to shake it loose before, to shed the vanity holding his head always high. Until now.

Since he'd been young he'd known what it meant to be proud of his heritage, of who he was and who he was meant to be. His mother had told his that he could not stop those who would look down on him, but he could show them that it was a mistake. Thorin had never turned his back to an insult, and he had never stepped back from a challenge of respect. He felt he had earned his right to the pride he carried in every step, in every posture, in every word. He had fought for it. Never before had he searched himself for the strength to put it aside, to push it to the dark shadows where seeking eyes couldn't find it. Until now.

Because he knew there would be eyes seeking it and if they found what they looked for then Thorin knew his nephew's death would be the cost he'd pay. It would be Kili's blood dripping from his hands. Thorin knew that if Thranduil deemed him arrogant and judged him as still prideful then he and his Company would not soon see freedom, and would never again see Kili. It would be a hard thing to forget his pride and humble himself before the Elvenking. Nearly impossible. It would be a hard thing for Thorin to bow his head to the very same who had left he and his people to die. But Thorin would sooner do so than allow Thranduil to cost him one more. He would sooner do nearly anything than let his nephew perish.

So during his escorted march out of the prisons and to Thranduil's halls he prepared himself as fully as he could to keep his mouth shut and his eyes low. Thorin knew it would wound his pride, perhaps more than could ever fully heal. But it was worth their freedom. For it was not a mountain of gold being held in fate's fickle hands this time but a life too valuable to forfeit for the sake of pride. Thorin knew he must silence the whispers of rage he could feel burning inside of him and remember that Thranduil was not his enemy, not truly, not this time. The orcs had stolen his nephew from him.

Hadn't it been the Elvenking's own son that had brought them word of Kili to the Mountain after all? And hadn't Fili said that Legolas fought beside them in Laketown? No, Thorin reminded his grudging heart as he remembered Gandalf's words to him now seemingly so long ago, the elves were not his enemy. Not even the Mirkwood ones. He needed their cooperation and, despite the dagger it left in his pride, their grace to save Kili. So Thorin collected his resolve and hushed his anger to his fullest ability. And by the time he reached Thranduil he had became sure of his capability to quell his dignity.

Until he actually saw the Elvenking. At that moment as he beheld his longtime enemy standing before him and looking down upon him with contempt, Thorin's confidence waned and his anger swelled inside his throat. He suddenly was not sure if humble words would come no matter with how much effort he tried.

Thranduil watched with silence as Thorin Oakenshield approached. His sharp eyes studied the dwarf's face closely for the emotions hidden behind a hard visage. He stared at the dwarf whose line was so full of pride that even after their kingdom collapsed into ash they still thought themselves better than all those they crossed. The dwarf whose kin was so arrogant that they ignored all counsel of wisdom and reason, and turned away from the warnings being offered so freely. He looked upon the dwarf whose family had stolen his gems and his trust, of which he'd seen neither since.

And in Thorin he saw nothing that suggested a lack of the same self importance the dwarf's heritage reeked of. With a breath of indignance Thranduil turned from Thorin, his crimson cloak reaching to the floor like blood dripping to the ground, the wound in his back still fresh from where Thror betrayed him.

"You have made a mistake, Thorin," Thranduil said as he came to face the dwarf again, his hands held tightly at his back by clasped fingers. "You had your chance to flee, to escape my lands and yet here you have returned dragging your companions with you. Are you so foolish that you think me ignorant of the occurrences of my own realm? Did last time teach you nothing? Or are you so arrogant that you think you will get away with it?"

Thorin's mouth opened to speak, his fury complete now and his anger ready to come loose from its mooring where it was tethered to his sense. But he was stopped.

"And are you so selfish that you would drag your whole company with you to be thrown into my prisons again? Does the great and might Oakenshield care nothing for his own people?"

 _Selfish_. Thorin had been forced to claim the same bitter title many times in resent days. Each time he thought of his nephew and the gold he abandoned Kili for. Each time he thought of the torment his sister's son could be facing because of his greed.

 _Selfish._ He could have listened to them. He should have. But no, instead he left his nephews to die. There was only one reason. And the guilt of it swelled into every space of his being.

 _Selfish_. Each time the word stung a little more and the gravity of what he had truly done weighed more heavily upon his heart. Thorin didn't need to be told that he was selfish. Only reminded at that moment. He felt the tension in his muscles loosen, and his shoulders drop in shame.

But Thranduil did not notice, his own anger coming forth now without Thorin's words to stop it. "You march across Middle Earth like it is yours and yours alone. But even the greatest can fall, and you are far from that. Yours is a foolish pride. I watched the very same destroy your grandfather. I saw it bring ruin upon so many. And now will you do the same to your own?" the Elvenking asked with anger, his steps having brought him to stand just before Thorin.

It was too late, Thorin thought. He had already brought ruin upon so many. His greed had already cost more lives than his heart could bare to know. Not for the first time he was stunned to remember what he had done, the mistakes he had made, and the price that had been paid. Not for the first time he felt his stomach twist with remorse and shame, and his throat burn at the reminder of how low he had fallen. Just like his grandfather.

"Know that I will not allow you to threaten my people's safely or peace as Thror did. I will not again stand by and let dwarves' inability to control their greed bring pain upon innocence. So you would be wise to temper your selfishness and pride before it keeps you here until you rot. Do not be mistaken Durin's son, you will comply now or you will remain locked in your cell until you do. You escaped my prisons once. I can assure you it will not happen again. So tell me Thorin Oakenshield, what are you willing to pay for your freedom?"

Thorin met Thranduil's eyes, his answer coming low and immediately, "Anything."

 **OOO**

Kili had searched for an escape the entirety of his capture. He had looked fervently for his opportunity to flee. And had waited impatiently for a chance at freedom again. In some optimistic thread of his thoughts he had remained hopeful that he would somehow avoid the eventual encounter with Bolg and all the pain he knew it would bring him. He had clung to a foolish wish that someway he could be spared all that was racing towards him on a quick and fatal wind.

But with a quiver of fear a horrifying realization suddenly came rushing at him as Kili found himself again staring into Bolg's cruel eyes. He could not escape this. Whatever was to come, whatever misery awaited him, he finally knew with no doubt to hide behind that he could not stop it. A helpless terror was the only thing left in the wake of his previous denial. It flooded into his every sense stirring a desperate need to survive. He just had to survive whatever this would prove to be. But he didn't feel ready. Suddenly he knew he must face what was the very making of his childhood terrors and he wasn't ready for it. Maybe he never could be. But Kili felt that he could've prepared himself more, could have readied for the stoke's tip aimed at his heart that would spark whatever strength he had to the surface. He would need whatever there was. But he hadn't really prepared himself, distracted by his hopeful delusions of avoiding this struggle altogether. So now he could only hope he had just enough of whatever he needed to survive.

' _It is time to prove your worth,'_ Bolg's words resounded in his ears, drumming over again nearly as quickly as the beating of his heart. Kili knew his life held worth to some. His mother loved him, of that he was certain. To her there was no value to be placed on his head. Fili loved him, of that he was absolutely convinced. Their tangled, inseparable lives meant there was no limit to the worth Fili saw in his brother. And Thorin loved him, Kili knew, even if their last encounter had been one of neglect and disappointment. To his family his life was worth much. But to Bolg, Kili wasn't sure. How much value would the pitiless orc find in his enemy's nephew? Maybe none.

"Do you know what slays more quickly than a blade? What is worth more than an army of weapons?" Bolg's haunting voice jerked Kili from his fears. The orc had not expected his prisoner to answer and was thus not surprised when he only received silence. "Information," Bolg answered for the dwarf at his feet. "It is what I want from you."

Kili laughed. It wasn't a loud thing, nor did it last long. Really, it was nothing more than a breath of ridicule mocking Bolg's ignorance. Did he truly believe that Kili would open his mouth and spill his guts only to be trampled on? Did he really expect Kili to murder his own honor with a traitorous weapon of his own making? He was very mistaken.

"Tell me what I want to know of Thorin and spare yourself," Bolg promised, stopping in front of Kili as he waiting for a response. His lips pulled into a smirk as he watched the young dwarf's mouth form a defiant scowl and glare back at him.

"Do you truly think I would trust that you would spare my life if I gave you what you ask? You judge me more ignorant than you," Kili answered, his anger the only thing matching his fear.

"You're wrong," Bolg said with wild glee in his eyes. "I will kill you. But unless you would rather beg, tell me what I desire freely. You cannot save your life, but salvage your dignity."

Kili stared at the malicious orc before him, surprised by how ignorant hatred had made him. "Save my dignity by betraying my family? You know nothing of honor," he said with a shake of his head, wondering how his spared life could even be worth betraying his own kin. He would have his life and yet he couldn't live with himself. That would only matter of course if Bolg were going to stay his hand and let him live, which he was not. There was a bit of fortune, Kili guessed, in that he would never have to choose between his loyalty and his life. He knew that choice would be harder to live out than he cared to admit. He knew which he must pick, but condemning himself to a death he could avoid would hardly be easy. But none of that mattered. He didn't have a choice.

"And what good is honor? What will it do for you now? What will it do for you when you are dead?" Bolg questioned, his eyes narrowing in irritation at his prisoner's stubbornness.

"I will not die a coward," Kili barked.

"As a fool then," Bolg snarled in anger now, his little patience spent. "I will make your task easy. Tell me how Oakenshield will keep the Mountain? With what army will he defend it? With what soldiers will he fight for it?"

Kili's eyes dropped immediately in thought. He had never wondered at the answer Bolg sought. He had never realized it was a question at all. It hadn't occurred to him that his uncle could seek an army, or that he would need one at all. Kili had always assumed retaking the Mountain was the only battle to be fought, not that there would be more to keep it. Thorin was the king. Kili had always been told the throne was his uncle's to claim. He had never considered that anyone would challenge that. Who was he to question what he'd always been told from his earliest memories?

Even if he was willing, Kili had no answer for Bolg. He didn't know where Thorin would turn for an army, or where he would look to for aid. He didn't even know for certain if his uncle still lived. Did Bolg know something he did not? Kili wondered will hope. Did the orc's inquiry mean Thorin and the Company did in fact live, that they had survived Smaug's rage? He could not know, not for certain like he so desperately wished to. But Kili was grateful for the thread of hope in the heart of his terrors. Of one thing he was sure, his uncle would not rely on force to hold his throne but trust. And that much Kili was glad to share with Bolg, if only to deny his efforts.

"Only a coward would rule his own people while hiding behind his forces."

"Only a weakling would not," Bolg sneered in answer.

"No, only a weak ruler would need to," Kili said. His words were the only defense of his pride he had at hand from where he was still forced on his knees at Bolg's feet. He now sat back on his heels, he weak body unable to stay straight. But he kept his mouth set in a firm frown of disapproval and his shoulders back. He would not shrink even in exhaustion, for the intent could easily be mistaken.

The orc leader seethed in contempt, tired of his prisoner's mouth. "And what of his enemies? Even if Oakenshield is arrogant enough to trust his own, how will he defend the Mountain against its threats?"

"Against you?" Kili said as he watched the orc begin to place in front of him again. He could see Bolg's eyes becoming more enraged with his every word, the flames glowing brighter in his dark irises. But despite the tremble shaking his shoulders and the tight grip fear held in his gut, Kili didn't care.

"Not so stupid after all," Bolg decided as he smirked at the young dwarf before him. "Yes, against me. How will Oakenshield keep his kingdom from me? Even he could not have risked all to regain a throne he can not defend. Even he must have a scheme to guard it."

Kili was again faced with the question to which he had no answer, even if he were forthcoming. He could only resort to his own stubbornness. "I will not betray my kin, and I will never yield to you or your kind."

Instead of fury flaring in Bolg's glaze Kili saw something always more terrifying, a calm, steady stare. The orc eyed Kili carefully in a manner that shook his soul before speaking. "You will not betray them? No," he said with a wicked smile, "I think you cannot. I think you know nothing."

Kili felt his heart drop, plunging towards the stone where his knees remained firmly stayed. Once he was deemed worthless he would die. And if Bolg knew that he knew nothing then it was only a hopeless matter of time before death cast him his fatal hand. Kili was not ready to die, and certainly not ready to give up. He could not deny Bolg's accusations for he would only confirm their truth with his denial. So he smiled. A mocking, arrogant smile in a concealed but desperate effort to make his orc captor doubt himself and his previous judgment.

And it worked, or nearly. It would have had Bolg not seen the very same look once before. At first he did believe Kili's acute rues. At first he did doubt himself, believing he'd made a mistake in his judgment. But then a memory, one from long past flashed back into the face before him and Bolg knew Kili was fooling him. He had before seen the very look his dwarf prisoner wore on a face whose head wore a crown before it went rolling at his father's feet. Thror had looked at Azog in the very same way just before he died, just when he realized he was beat. And Bolg had seen it. He had witnessed the dwarf king's death from his post at Azog's side where he had fought, and he could remember well the unafraid smirk Thror wore even as his death of handed to him. Bolg had long wondered on the ignorant pride that had claimed the beaten dwarf's face that day. And he realized now that it was a trait of conceit plentiful in his line. One his kin had come to bare when they too had nowhere left to turn. It was their arrogant face of defeat.

"You are just like them," Bolg said thoughtfully as he watched Kili, "Your great grandfather, your uncle, all of them. Stubborn even when it will get you nothing."

"And you are just like him, your own father, honorless filth who lurks in the shadows and hides from your threats," Kili shouted back.

"Honorless, yet wiser than you. Which of us is bidding for their life? Which of us will soon meet their death? And a more painful one if you can give me nothing."

"If my death is to come, it will not be with me begging to you," Kili promised, hoping his voice was stronger than the very doubts preying on his mind. The orc gave only a chilling smirk in reply, a voiceless pledge what he would make his prisoner indeed beg.

"When your death comes it will be over due I'm told. My scouts said they stuck you with a mortal shaft. Tell me, why did you not die?" Bolg asked as he approached. "Why did this not kill you?" He probed as he pressed his foot into the wound on Kili's leg, lifting a cry of shock and pain from the dwarf's mouth. Bolg gave a malicious smile as he stepped away again, waiting for an answer as Kili struggled to catch his breath.

"My blood is hard to kill," the young prince said through his gritted teeth.

"Yours is the blood of cowards. It's twisted through your line," Bolg countered, anger again taking control of his words.

"Why then are you so afraid of my family?" Kili asking knowing the question and the implication behind it would enrage the orc. But did it matter now? When his life was already deemed to perish? Maybe. Perhaps there was a chance to salvage something, or even spare himself some pain. But if the only joy left to him was defending his kin and defying his captor he would take it.

"I do not fear your wretched family," Bolg roared.

"Yet your kind faces us only when you out number us one to many. And you, who throws every life in front of you like a shield to protect your own, you are the greatest coward of all."

The strike came quickly, before Kili ever had a chance to stop it. The hilt of Bolg's sword meet his face with a rush of pain and blackness as his vision spun and he felt himself hit the ground. Then came a boot crushing down upon his ribs. They didn't break slowly or one by one. It happened all at once. The stomp too strong, surely snapping more than a couple. A violent gasp gathered in Kili's chest, but even his breath was caught in his lungs by the blow. He only laid there in silence with his mouth agape and his eyes watering as he clutched at his right side desperate for any escape from the pain aching inside him.

"You call me a coward scum," Bolg snarled in rage, "let us see how brave you prove now." In fury he grabbed a handful of Kili's dark hair and hauled him upright. "Let us see how hard your blood is to kill in my wargs' pits." There was nothing Kili could do to stop his fast approaching end despite the weak struggle he posed. There was nothing he could do but bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming out in pain and fear and grief and rage as he was dragged towards his death.

He would never have thought it, but it was an orc that saved him. "Master," it called as it approached, causing Bolg to halt and loosen his grip on his prisoner. He turned with sharp eyes to the smaller orc before him, growling in anticipation and anger. "I bring word," the apparent messenger told him quickly, "from your father."

* * *

 **I hope you liked this chapter. Please let me know! I love and appreciate any and all reviews, and I thank all who have taken the time to post one before. I also love the follows and favorites. Thanks for those too. It truly means so much to me. Thanks as always for reading, and have a wonderful day!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (14)** _ **'A Price Paid For Love'**_

"Speak, and do it quickly," Bolg told the messenger orc that had come to stand before them. Kili himself laid on the ground were he sank when Bolg released him. He felt he should do something, but he was tired. His body was weak and he couldn't force himself up from the ground as his heart pounded in his chest in exhaustion. It mattered little, there was no where for him to go.

"Your father is displeased," the messenger spoke. "He says you have sat in this mountain for too long collecting prisoners. Because you did not stop Oakenshield from entering the Mountain it must now be fought for. We must ready for war."

"Displeased is he? Was it not he who could not finish the dwarves on the cliff side when the chance was his? Was it not he who abandoned the hunt for Oakenshield and left it to me? A little patience more and I would have the dwarf's head for him," Bolg growled in anger.

The smaller orc shook his head. "He wants Oakenshield dead but not at the cost of the Mountain. He wanted the dwarf slain before he reached Erebor. Now we must take it from him. Your father demands you go to Moria to prepare those forces for battle."

Bolg stood tall, his head high in conceit, "Tell my father I go and will see this battle won."

"You will not fight alone. Azog will join you with the forces of Dol Guldur," the other orc told him.

"So he wants a war he cannot lose, we will make it so," Bolg smiled, his eyes lighting in glee. "Now go. And tell my father Oakenshield's blood will still be mine. I will claim it on a battlefield if I must."

With a nod the messenger turned, fleeing the fortress with haste.

 _War._ They were preparing for a war, a war on the Mountain, on his uncle's kingdom, on his family. Kili knew he could not just let it happen. He couldn't let the orcs assail Erebor and kill those he loved. He also knew he could not stop it, not when he was nothing but a powerless and injured prisoner with no voice to warn his kin. And it was the very worst feeling he had ever encountered. To know that something was too horrible to bare, to even imagine, to know it could not happen without completely destroying him, and yet having no power to stop it was the most tortuous thing Kili had ever felt. It was as if a cruel blade was gouging at his heart and he could not get away, like darkness itself was coming and he could not escape it.

He had once dreamed of war. When he was young he used to imagine a battlefield marked by opportunity. It was where victories were won, where bravery was proven, where honor was claimed. And Kili had desired all of those things all of his life. He used to envision the moment he would claim them all on an imagined battleground of his naive youth's making.

For some odd, foolish reason death had never appeared in his imaginings. The idea of it had never occurred to him as he dreamt of glory won. Kili had always envisioned a full life in which to live out his honor rich years. Now, death was the only thing that seemed to lay before him. In every direction he turned, in every fate he could imagine for himself it was there, looming dark and ugly not far from him. Whether armies would meet on a field of battle mattered little to Kili now. His death would come on its own, no matter when or where enemy forces would collide. War meant nothing to his fate. But to his family, it meant everything. It meant a threat against everything they had struggled to claim, a threat against any form of peace to be found in their lives, a threat to the very life that breathed inside them. War could mean their death. And Kili could not bare that. He could not bare the thought of an eventual war, even one after his own end, that would strike down his kin. Their lives could not be lost. The Company was too brave to be slaughtered after all they had faced. Bilbo was too kind to die a warrior's brutal death. Thorin was too strong to fall after he withstood so much. Fili was too young to give his life for a cause he didn't even know.

His family's death was the one thing Kili truly feared. That and his own. But mostly theirs. It was the one terror he couldn't chase away, the one dark dread that plagued his otherwise brave soul. He had never wanted much, save for his family and his happiness, and those were two beats in the same pulse. One came with the next. Once, not so long ago, Kili thought he could survive anything. He didn't think there existed anything that could bring him down. But after watching dragon fire burn up dozens with the same flames he could feel on his face, and after days now as a prisoner of orcs he wasn't so certain. Now, he wondered if there weren't several things that could end him, many maybe. But if there was only one, if he had only one weakness he knew now it was his family and friends' death. If the very idea of it could consume him with such panic, then the reality would destroy him.

As thoughts of his friends and family bleeding and dying rush into his mind, Kili tried to remember why he had ever thought of war as anything more than a necessary duty. One entered into only when there was no other choice. War had robbed him of so many. He didn't know why the idea of it had gained his favor when it deserved his distain. So many of his family had fallen under its banner, some before his ever knew them. So why had he and Fili grown battling in their play? Why had they wished for their chance to fight for as long as they could remember? Why had they longed for their own war stories to come? Hadn't they realized wishing for war was little more than wishing for death? No, they hadn't. No one had ever told them not to want it, that they didn't want it, that it was a terrifying thing.

The message had been there, in the sad eyes of their mother when she looked east towards the wars that stole her family. It was there in Thorin's frown when he stared at the dark sky and remembered the nights before battle when his kin was still safe, still alive. It was in the tremble of Dwalin's hands when he finally cease his practice and laid down his swords in exhaustion, the memories of slain fellows he couldn't protect fresh on his mind. The massage had been all around Fili and Kili but they hadn't seen it because they were too young to know to look. And no one had ever told them to listen for the things that weren't said. No, they hadn't known to be afraid of death.

But now, with it far nearer than ever before, Kili was terrified. He didn't want to die. And he wasn't ready to drop his weapons and let it come unopposed just yet. But a primal, selfish part of him wanted more than to save his own life, to save those of his loved ones. Kili knew wishing for their life without him was more selfish than wishing for his life without them. He would be leaving them with the pain instead of facing it himself. But he knew he couldn't face it. Together they could, his family could survive his death. But Kili knew alone he could not survive theirs. And he didn't want too. Even if it was selfish he wanted his family to live more than he wanted his own life. He didn't want to die. But if he couldn't save his life, if he had to choose his or theirs he would choose theirs.

And so Kili decided that even from the ground were he laid before Bolg's feet clutching his ribs he had to do all he could to save their lives.

"Do you think you won't be opposed?" he asked, forcing sharpness into his voice despite his pained, quick breaths. "Do you think my uncle won't be ready for you?" For the first time in days Kili smiled. "You'll die as a fool then." It wasn't a real smile any more than a real threat. The truth was, more likely than not Thorin would not be ready, he wouldn't even know they were coming. But if Kili could get Bolg to believe he would be opposed and countered, or even believe it a possibility, he might not attack. He may avoid the assault like the coward he was. Or Kili hoped.

Bolg sneered back, his wicked and cruel. "It will not matter. Our forces will outnumber his, if he has any at all. Prepared or not, he will fail.

Kili shook his head as he searched for a counter charge, but he was stopped by a sudden rebuke, "Don't try to fool me, scum. I know what you attempt, but you will not scare me. You've opened your mouth only when it is too late. Your family will die. Soon." Looking to his soldiers he said, "Make ready."

"What about the prisoners?" one questioned.

"We can leave them. They will not all die before we return." another answered.

"No," Bolg scowled at him, "It seems my father does not wish for me to keep them." He looked at Kili, his black, depthless eyes crawling over every feature of the dwarf's face. "we'll kill them."

 **OOO**

Value was a strange thing. It was strange how something that held value to one could mean nothing to another. It was strange how it could be marked by a single glance, and how it could be wielded as a weapon with a single word. Strangest still, was the way value could change so instantly. The way something that once meant everything suddenly meant nothing at all. Or the very things that were once overlooked were the only things that mattered anymore.

Thorin had seen fate's wrist twist before. He had watched his entire world be turned over. He knew what is was to have everything he cared for be tossed at chance's feet. And most had been stomped and killed then and there before they had a chance to flee. The few that escaped had run, as far and as fast as they could from the pain always after them, always chasing them, always creeping closer again, and always ready to take one more. They had run, and Thorin felt at times that he had never stopped. There were times he'd slowed down. Times it hadn't felt like he was being pursued as such a daunting pace. But if he ever looked back trouble was never out of sight, the pain was never far enough to lose. So Thorin had kept going always onward, always dodging as many strikes as he could. But some couldn't be escaped.

One would think the fewer you loved the fewer you could lose. But somehow the tight embrace Thorin had wrapped around those he loved had not kept them safe. He realized too late that he could hardly keep his arms around them when he was reaching for treasure. And now another strike had come and taken Kili with it, prying him from fingers that help too loose. Some strikes couldn't be escape. And some could have been, should have been if only he hadn't slowed down to gather shining gems that had caught the light and his heart in one selfish moment. It was strange how the value of the very gems he had picked up and polished and piled now meant nothing at all. The jewels and treasure he had longed for so desperately had turned to ash to the very eyes that had caressed them with such lustful greed. Now the only lost treasure with any value at all was truly out of reach and Thorin knew it was of his own doing He should have seen Kili's worth far above riches and gold long before it was too late, long before it cost his nephew his freedom at best. He had already decided days ago that he would never forgive himself for his mistake.

But regret did nothing to mend the wrong. It had no actual power to do anything to right mistakes made. It served only as a reminder of them. Thorin knew his regret was not enough. It was not enough to save Kili. If it was all he had to offer, Kili would die while remorse stayed idle locked inside Thorin's chest where it hurt. Commitment was needed now. It was the very thing needed all along, the very same that would have spared them all so much pain. Had Thorin showed any amount of the commitment he own to his family on the shore of Lake Town instead of turning his back to the devastated face of his kin, then he could have saved them all the torment they now lived in. But he had not.

Now, the dwarf king was willing to offer anything to save his nephew including his overdue commitment to the pair of brothers he had promised to love and protect all of his life. Now he wished only for the chance to beg forgiveness of his youngest nephew. Now Thorin hoped only for the day when he could hold Kili in his arms again. And on that wish, there was no price.

" _Anything."_

Shock, not mere surprise, passed over the Elvenking's features. It was subtle, but it was there, left unconcealed for long enough to see. He peered at Thorin with doubtful eyes, trying to judge what trick the dwarf was attempting.

"I will not allow you to keep from me what is mine any longer," the Elvenking promised. "If you desire your freedom you will return what you refused before. I want the White Gems of Lasgalen."

"Then they are yours," Thorin agreed with a nodded.

This time Thranduil did not attempt to hide his surprise which was quickly followed by suspicion and curiosity. "And what, I wonder, has so quickly changed your stubborn mind?"

Regret, guilt, responsibility, shame, reason. There were so many things that had finally turned his mind from madness. So many things that had finally stemmed the wild threads of insanity running through his blood. Thorin knew no reason was truly good enough. His mind should never have needed dug out of the blindness at all. He should have never let himself fall. He had seen enough fall before him. Enough to know it only took one moment, one step. Thorin knew he should have been the wiser, should have seen greed's mouth open wide ready to swallow him. If he had only stopped while he still had a chance, while there was still firm footing to stand on he wouldn't have fallen. But he had fallen. And it took so many things to pick him back up. So many things and one moment. The one when Fili walked into Erebor alone and looked at him with tears in his eyes.

"My nephew, Kili. He was taken by orcs."

Thranduil stopped moving with a flinch. He knew well the evil of orcs. He knew well the sight of their prisoners' bodies. He knew well the pain of one lost to their hands. The memories were always far too close. And no matter what dislike and distrust he harbored for the dwarf king before him, he would not wish that pain upon any. "You are pursuing them?"

Thorin nodded. "They fled towards Gundabad."

"Is your nephew still alive? Is this a mission of rescue or revenge?"

Thorin felt his heart squeeze. He didn't know. Not really. He had set out on this effort in an attempt to recover Kili. But there was truly no certainty that his nephew had not been already killed. He could hope for it, will it. And he could believe it if he wished. But it did not make it true, only true to him. Thorin felt a familiar terror crawl over him at the reminder that Kili could already be death. It was something he was fortunate to forget when most of his time was spent on his task at hand. But once in a while he would remember, and it was a horrifying thing. He wanted to forget. "Kili was taken alive." It was the best he could answer.

"And you would give up your treasure for him?" Thranduil asked, watching Thorin's face closely. He could believe a dwarf giving up his riches for revenge, but for love? He had never see that.

"Yes."

Thranduil had hated the dwarves for their greed. He had disliked them for the selfishness that was the very mark upon their race. Reign after reign of greedy kings was the legacy that had been left on the burned battlements of Erebor. The succession of dwarves that had ruled it worn arrogance as a crown and wielded their pride like a weapon. They had drawn a line of self importance on the ground knowing none would cross it, believing none would dare to rise above them in their might. Long ago Thranduil had decided he disliked dwarves, and he had decided he would always dislike them. They did not change. Their stubbornness promised that. A truly humble dwarf was not something he had ever look to see. He had come to believe such a thing did not exist, most especially within the line of Durin. It was vanity that pulsed in their blood. Thorin and his kin were known for it.

Thranduil had not expected to hear humility in Thorin Oakenshield's voice. He hadn't expected to find it etched in the dwarf's features. Perhaps more surprising however, was the wild desperation shinning if Thorin's eyes. It was that look, stripped of all but raw and frantic emotion, that made Thranduil recognize what stood before him. A humbled dwarf without, for the first time, any prideful purpose. Thranduil had hated the dwarves for their greed. But now, he did not find it.

"Guards," Thranduil spoke to the pair of elves near him though all the while his eyes remained on Thorin, "release the rest of Oakenshield's company. We have reached an agreement."

Thorin's eyes and head dropped in relief. He had feared so much that Thranduil would deny his plead. Now that he had not, Thorin found himself surprised. He had always known the Elvenking disliked and distrusted his grandfather. Long before any eyes even looked if the direction of the then young dwarf prince, an anger of haughtiness and disrespect had wedged it's way between the two races. Thorin had always believed that Thranduil's distain for him was only a handed down hatred wholly undeserved. It was only now, as the elf's accusation of selfishness could still be heard in guilty echoes, that Thorin wondered if he'd been wrong. If perhaps, somewhere along the twisted string of troubles that was their relations, he had wronged Thranduil. It was not impossible, Thorin realized now. If he was mistaken when he judged Thranduil's character as only boastful and even cruel, then he could have yet made one more mistake. Or many.

"I can not offer you aid. As many of my guards as I can spare have left with my son," the Elvenking spoke, surprising Thorin more than anything else previously said.

"I did not ask for your aid," Thorin stammered, more in shock than offence. He knew better than any that he truly had no grieve against the elf now and did not wish to begin another. But he could not help the coarse tone his words came with and feared for a moment that he had angered Thranduil when the Elvenking just looked at him with a stern gaze.

"No, but it would be offered," Thranduil said, his words lacking the bite of disrespect always following them. "I wish your quest well."

Thorin only stared as his long time enemy. He did not know what to say or how to tell the Elvenking that he truly was grateful for his unforeseen kindness. Thorin didn't know how to express his gratitude for Thranduil's willing cooperation. He didn't know how to say that he was touched by the unlooked for words of sympathy. Mostly he didn't know how to thank Thranduil for the one moment when in his eyes it was clear that he cared. Thorin held the elf's eyes for a moment longer. There wasn't much to be said.

"Thank you."

 **OOO**

Fili still remembered well the first time he saw his brother. Dark, wavy hair spilling around his little face. His skin was flushed and pink. His features too tiny to seem real. His little eyes had opened and Fili was greeted with warm brown. The loving stare the newborn gave his older sibling had been enough to snatch Fili's young heart instantly. But when Kili's small lips had parted in an adoring grin Fili had in that moment truly fallen in love with the thought of being a big brother. And from that moment he had loved Kili as deeply and fully as any brother could. Fili could still remember the way his new brother's tiny fingers had wrapped into his hair when he first held him, and the tiny breaths he drew of his new world. That day, the first of Kili's life, Fili had looked in his sibling's face and was afraid. Kili was so tiny, so fragile. Fili worried that he would break, that something would happen and he would be taken from him. So he had made a promise to himself that day to watch after his brother until he was big enough to do it himself. Fili decided he would care for and protect Kili while he was still so small. Not because he had to. Not because his parents told him to. Because he wanted to. He wanted his little brother safe.

Year by year Fili watched Kili grow. He watched him take his first steps. He heard him speak his first words. He watched Kili become stronger and bigger, able and accomplished. He watched him train and become a skilled and worthy warrior. But every year the deep need to protect did not lessen like he had thought. With Kili it grew. Each year their bond grew and finally Fili had realized he would never stop watching after his brother. Because even though Kili had grown, he was not a fragile babe or helpless child anymore, he was precious and valued and loved. Fili loved him. He had known then that he would never stop trying to keep his little brother safe. Because he needed him. His affection for his brother had cost Fili much through the years. But he had always known Kili was worth it.

Because he needed him.

And the very thought of Kili dying was unthinkable. It was the most terrifying thing Fili had ever known. The painful idea had wrapped its hands around his heart and with each day squeezed tighter. An ache inside his chest accompanied his every waking minute. And all Fili knew was that he couldn't lose Kili. He couldn't.

But could he stop it?

He wasn't as sure as he'd once been, and certainly not while he was trapped in an elven dungeon. Fili sat with his back to the stone wall of his prison, his legs stretched out in front of him in an weary, effortless manner. He held his head tipped back against the wall and he sat there, wondering how everything else in his life had slipped away leaving only worry. How had life brought him there and so quickly? It wasn't so long ago that he had never even really known worry or fear before. Many times he had told his mother not to worry for him, not realizing then that it couldn't just been willed away. His mother told him that it couldn't be helped, that as long as he was her son she would worry for his safety. She said she was fortunate though, because she would never have to worry for his happiness. _"A mother wants her children safe for herself, but for them, she only wants happiness,"_ she told him. She said her sons had a way of capturing and carrying joy like she'd never see before, and that it would see them through anything. For that, she was grateful.

But she was wrong. Fili knew now that his happiness was more fragile than she believed. He decided his soul could, in fact, be easily shattered. It would take very little to break his heart beyond repair. And for the first time in his life it was no longer an unimaginable thing. He could feel a dreaded grief rising up inside of him, swelling inside his heart. It was a desperate, wild grief, one laced heavily with denial. Fili wanted to insist it wouldn't come, that he wouldn't slip into the pits of sorrow trying to claim him. But the truth was he had already slipped. His misery was already whole, and he knew it would remain unbroken until he had Kili back. Until his brother was safely recovered, there was no joy to be found. No matter what his mother had once told him.

His lack of joy, however, stood in absolute contrast to the hope he fed with his every breath. It was the one thing he held to with a grasp that could not be loosened. It was the one thing he had to hold his head up, to lift his eyes, to move his body onward. He could not lose it. It was his lifeline to strength, to sanity, steadiness. It was the thing breathing flames through his body, feeding his soul. It was his one defense against the despair snatching for him. And Fili wielded it with all the conviction and skill of his own blades. Even if he was miserable, he was not hopeless. And he never would be. To lose hope was to assure Kili's doomed fate with his own hand. And he would not do that.

That's why even as the minutes wasted away while he waited for Thorin's return, Fili did not let his desperation lead him to panic. Even as precious time was spent he did not lose heart. Patience, yes. He waited with growing restlessness for something to happen, anything that would release him from his prison. And when at last Fili knew his impatience was at its extreme limit, he heard the welcomed sound of opening cell doors. His companions' muted voices rose in excitement as they were released around him. And at last, as he rose to his feet with haste, Fili's own door was opened.

"Out," the guard charged, "the king wants you."

"Which one?"

The elf looked at him with faint amusement, "Both."

So, Fili thought with excitement, Thorin had gotten Thranduil to listen to him, that was something. He could only hope it had not taken too long.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought! Also, thanks for all past reviews, follows, and favorites. They mean so much to me. Have a wonderful day :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (15)** _ **'Ready or Not'**_

It was outside the mountain where the orcs chose to gather their prisoners to slaughter. It would be better for their bodies to rot outside the fortress than inside of it. Though death lying at the fortress's mouth could not be much better. Standing at the foot of the mountain in the gray morning light, Kili wondered when it had gotten so cold. The wind that rushed his face and chilled his back was not an end of summer cool, but rather winter introducing itself. It was strange that only a few weeks before he had been traveling with he kin and his friends new and old in open fields under a warm sun. His life could not be a darker contrast now, a black shadow against what was then so bright.

Now his only companions were the other prisoners awaiting their execution. There were far more than Kili had thought. He hadn't even been sure that there were any at first. He had even hoped he was alone and believed, after only silent answers to his shouts, that it was true. But no, there were indeed a terrible many, and absolutely no joy to be found in their presence. Companionship meant little when the first thing you would share was death. And despite his previous loneliness, Kili wished he was dying alone instead of with so many others that didn't deserve it either. Among the victims of Bolg's cruelty standing about him were some men, most aged and appearing close to death. There were a few elves, not many, but a few. Most however, in fact nearly all, were dwarves. Kili didn't know a great much about his race's history or the bloodlines that twisted endlessly through the past in sharp, maddening tangles. He had never paid as close attention to his lessons as perhaps he should have. But Kili could tell that the dwarves around him were from many clans and families. The orcs were not particular in their choice of captives it would seem.

Kili wondered how all the faces around him had found their way to this. This pain, this ruin, this death. What unfortunate web of troubles had cast them into this place were sorrow trapped them with no promise of escape? Had some been stolen from their lives like he had, suddenly and without warning? Or where some's a more tangled tale, woven tightly together by mistakes and sorrows? He wondered how long some of them had been held there. How long had fear been the only sure thing they knew? How long had pain been the first thing to greet them when they woke? How long had darkness been the breath to their every day? How long had death been the only hope left? Kili remembered the people of Lake Town, the ones he had watched give themselves up, those that let go of their life without trying to hold on, those that turned to their death with open arms. He had wondered what could have brought them so low. What could have robbed them of the very will to survive. Maybe this, he thought now, or something like it. Maybe when one was surrounded by sorrow for so long and hope was slowly taken one day at a time it was easy to decided that death was the more favorable alternative to living. Maybe it was easy to look for an end rather than a way out. Maybe it was easy to give up.

But he didn't think so. Kili didn't want to die. And he still could not imagine a life in which he wished for his own end. Maybe he hadn't suffered for long enough, may his torment was not complete enough, but he could not understand a reason for the empty faces around him. He had known misery over that past days for the first time in his life, and yet he was no closer to begging for death than when sat around Bilbo's table in the shire, or when lying in Bard's home with poison in his veins, or when fighting on the lake against the orcs that had him now. At every moment the will to survive was there, strong and pounding in his heart. It could always be called upon no matter the peril or pain he faced. And at any time Kili could feel it stirring inside him, fighting to be heard, desperate to be fought for. Even now, as his death neared at a terrifying pace it did not quiet. It screamed louder as the treat against it came closer.

Suddenly there was a noise that caught Kili's attention, or rather the absence of all noise. Silence was such a loud thing. He turned to see what had silenced all the heavily armed orcs scattered about and the prisoners alike. Bolg had left the mountain and was walking through the span of his captives towards several of his soldiers. He did not take his deliberate time to pace passed and eye them as was his usual habit. Instead he walked quickly as if for once his task was an urgent one that could not be dragged out painfully slowly. Even he had someone to fear it seemed, his own father, Kili thought. Fear was not a selective thing, and it was a heavy pressure pushing on any back. Kili watched the way each prisoner the orc leader passed turned their eyes from him to the ground and pulled away as their muscles tightened in fear. He wasn't sure why, they were all going to die. Did it matter if they caught Bolg's attention? Would going unnoticed save them? No, they were all going to die and they knew it. Perhaps they didn't wish to be the first to die. Maybe they wanted to survive just a moment longer. With no control over whether they would die, perhaps power over when they fell meant something to some.

Kili decided it did not matter. A few extra moments at the cost of his dignity was not worth it. So when Bolg passed him, Kili did not drop his eyes, he did not shrink in terror. And just like silence, his stillness caught Bolg's notice. As the rest coward like a ripple away from him, the dwarf prince alone stood still and met his eyes. Bolg did not stop, but his eyes did for a moment as they lingered on his most resent prisoner. Kili felt a fury and fear rise up inside of him, but he contained it inside his tightly clamped teeth. He would not cower.

"Is this them all?" Bolg asked the soldiers once he had reached them.

"Yes," they answered, eyeing the countless many standing like stock in a field, waiting for their slaughter.

"Then kill them, and do it quickly. We must go."

The soldiers that were scattered throughout the prisoners all moved to comply but were stopped by Bolg, "Wait," he said, "that one dies first." His stare fell upon Kili.

Bolg had stayed his hand before not because he was sure he could use Kili, but only because he wasn't sure he couldn't. He had to take his time. He had to be sure before he made a mistake. So he had considered his choices carefully. The dwarf was Thorin's nephew, one of his heirs. But he was also young. Too young to have been born in the Mountain. Too young to have been driven from it. This dwarf prince had never set foot in Erebor. He could tell them nothing of its boarders, nothing of its breaches. He had also never seen battle, that was clear in his youth and his ignorance to pain, his lack of scars. There were no secrets he could tell, no strategies to be coaxed from tortured lips. Bolg had realized he could not pry any knowledge of value from his prisoner for there was none to take.

The last he could do beyond killing the dwarf was to use his life as a weight on a scale. The one tipping between his success and failure. He knew better than most of his kind that there were more pieces to play with than a blade and a victim. And more moves to make than maiming and slaughtering. Bolg knew the goal was not winning but succeeding. He knew there was a difference. Winning, you stood alone. Succeeding, you stood above and the rest knelt. If there was none left to stoop down before him in the end he rose for nothing. No, killing was pointless without a purpose. And Bolg knew that. It's what made him keener than most of his race. And more dangerous. So he had wondered if he could hold Kili's life against Thorin's, if he could tempt the foolish king to sacrifice himself in the serves of the loyalty so prized by dwarves.

But orcs were not loving creatures. Bolg's own father had never shown him kindness. He had never offered compassion. He had mocked the foolishness of devotion. And he had never given anything resembling love. Bolg knew that dwarves could not be so different. They were greedy and selfish. And that was why he had decided Thorin would not trade his life for his nephew's. Because Bolg knew his father would never do so either. And dwarves were not so different. That's when Bolg decided throwing Kili into his warg pits was too tempting to refuse. He decided then that there was no reason not to. The dwarf was worthless. Bolg's effort had been stopped, interrupted. But now was his chance to finish it and watch Thorin's nephew die. Killing without purpose was pointless. But sometimes pleasure was purpose enough.

It was outside the mountain that Kili realized he was surely going to die. Death had looked his way before. Many times it had been close. Many times in the past days Kili had thought it had finally come. Many times he had braced himself for the blow that would end him. The first time had been of the cliff side, nothing behind them, fire and orcs before them. He had thought he might die that night, and he had been afraid for the very first time in his life, truly afraid. He had felt it when he collapsed by the lakeside, abandoned by his uncle and choking on poison in his blood. He felt it when his fingers slipped away from the side of the barge, the only thing keeping him close to protection, his brother. He felt it when he was tossed at Bolg's feet for the first time and could feel a cold sword edge warmed by the heat of his own skin as it was held to his neck. He felt it when Bolg heaved his gasping form up from the ground and began to drag him towards a warg pit. And he could feel it now. But this time…this time it was different. This time, for the first time, he knew it was real. For the first time death was not looking at him. It was touching him. And suddenly Kili knew he could not escape it.

For a moment he wondered. For a moment he wondered it he might be saved again. Each time even as he was on the precipice of death fate had snatched him back again and saved him for a bit longer. And Kili wondered if perhaps it would happen again now. Maybe he would be spared, maybe he would survive. But no, not this time. He could feel it in his gut, in his soul. This was his end.

With a shudder of sudden terror Kili felt his blood pulsing in his chest, in his ears, in his fingers. Pounding against his ribs, his heart rushing in panic. Bolg reached him and stopped, standing for a moment still with just a calm sneer of triumph twisting his features. Then he reached for his blade.

No, not this way, Kili gasped. He would not die this way. He would not fall helpless and cold at Bolg's feet without protest. All his life he had been taught to fight. Even before he could hold weapons he had words. And by mirroring others he had learned to forge them as weapons, crafting his pleads and demands and even his joys to strike just where he intended. He was always quick and with good aim, long before his bow or blades. He had been taught to fight with anything he had, that he was never helpless, that he could not give up. His wit and his heart were weapons too. His wit had taken time to refine, and his heart time to control. And many would say he still had not managed control of it. Yes, Kili had been taught to fight his entire life with whatever he was given. But sometimes the most simple is the most useful, and in the moment when his words were silent with fear, and his wits chased to brighter shadows, and his heart trembling, a weapon of iron was best.

Kili rushed for the knife still tucked inside his boot and in one quick moment drove it into Bolg's chest. He didn't know exactly how much force was behind his tightly closed fist when it plunged the blade into the orc's flesh, only that it was a lot. Much more than he thought his weak body contained. His hand trembled as it tightly grasped the handle of the blade in his fist, dark, thick blood making it slick. With a curious awareness that didn't seem to fit the time or place, Kili noticed the small symbol on the knife's hilt. Fili's. Kili had planned to use Fili's knife to save himself. He had hoped for the chance to save his life with it. Just as his brother had always been there to block a blow that Kili couldn't, he had thought Fili's knife would save him now. Just like its owner always had. But now the chances of this blade sparing his life was as impossible as Fili himself being able to stop it. Now this knife would only fall beside where he did. Maybe he had waited too long. Perhaps he had let his opportunity pass him by. Or maybe there had never been a chance at all. But at least if Fili's knife could not save him, Kili was glad it would avenge him. There was a little comfort in knowing he had not kept a weapon and used it for nothing at all. If nothing more, at least he had gotten to feel it sink into Bolg's flesh.

When he could not force the blade in any more he let go, watching Bolg's eyes open wide in pain. The orc's lips parted as a groan fell out, and his shoulders collapsed around the wound. His blood was so dark. Kili stared at Bolg's eyes, seeing the fury in them, seeing the pain. He looked on, a thread of satisfaction stitching together some form of happiness. He looked on, relieved that his aim had been true enough even in his haste to strike the left of the orc's chest.

Maybe if Kili had been more trained, more experienced, less naïve he would have known to step away, would have known not to count the wounded for dead. Life held strongest when it needed to. But he was young, merely and boy and he didn't know better.

As Fili's knife torn into his flesh, Kili let out a horrible cry of shock and pain. His breath left his body in one miserable second, silencing his opened mouth and leaving only his widen eyes to speak for his pain. Bolg's now empty wound spit blood in front of him as Kili felt drops of his own wetting his skin. He didn't have to look down to see that the blade was buried deep in his stomach not far below his freshly broken ribs. He could feel it, and he could see it in the triumphant cruelty of Bolg's eyes. How the orc had jerked the blade from his own body and plunged it into Kili's in a second, half a second, Kili wasn't sure. He was only sure of the wild agony tearing through his body. And the panic that urged his heart into a rushing, pounding fit. For a moment he just stood there. He just stood there and felt the pain and the fear swell from the inside out. Then he fell. It was a slow, graceless fall. He doubled around the knife, then stumbled onto his knees one at a time, desperately fighting to stay up.

Bolg just watched Kili sink. And finally, Kili looked away from his eyes. Finally, he didn't care to defy the orc anymore. He had pushed until he no longer could, he failed to shrink one too many times. And he had lit the smoldering fury always stirring behind Bolg's eyes, always barely hiding behind his arrogance. The fury that overwhelmed cold reason in a blaze of anger. Kili had defied him until Bolg's wrath met its end with a knife buried to its handle. It was the price of Kili's boldness, or foolishness. The price he had known he would pay all along. The price he had thought was worth it. His crimson drops of blood said differently. They fell with protest, with their own defiance. Blood smells different when it's one's own. It tasted different in his throat when it was some of that last his heart would ever beat.

Slow and thick, the life drained out of his stomach. The ruby drops drew with their fall all of his mistakes, his failures, his wrongs onto his wet fingertips, marking their memory bright and clear before his pained eyes. They reminded him that it was he, his choices, his decisions, his missteps that sat him now on death's doorstep. Who could truly be blamed but himself? The tremble that shook his entire body didn't nearly voice the misery weaving itself into his every breath. And the pain of his wound didn't seem like any kind of justice for any wrong he could have committed. This was a worse punishment than he could deserve. But who ever said life deemed justice a worthy cause? Who ever said life was anything but bias and jealous. And who ever said life was fair? That it even valued fairness at all?

Though, life did seemed to favor the unjust as often as the just. Perhaps it was not so biased after all.

Kili had wondered what it would be like to get stabbed before. He knew it would hurt. The blade would pry into his flesh clean and quick drawing his bright blood. A sharp pain would rush through his body as he silenced his shouts behind his clenched teeth. He had locked his cries behind his lips before. He had kept himself from crying out every time. When the morgul shaft stuck him. When Bolg crushed his knee. When he broke his ribs. Each time Kili had held tight to his dignity by retaining his silence. Why should getting stabbed be any different? He had imagined what it would feel like. Many he knew had been pierced by a blade in their battles and he had heard the tales in life-like detail. But life-like and real life were not the same think Kili learned. Actually getting stabbed was much different, much less glorious. He didn't expect the pitiful sound his body made in its agony. He didn't anticipate the painful way his lungs struggle to get air. He didn't know his vision would blur until he could barely see the face that had stabbed him. He didn't know that his blood would drip and smear so much. Or that his hands would shake so much when they clutched at his wound and the knife still buried in his flesh. He didn't know it would hurt so much that he could hardly hold himself upright on his knees. Or that he would be so afraid, like a coward.

Pain was a single, simple thing. And thought Kili knew there was more than one way to feel it, different ways it could hurt, he hadn't until recently discovered how incredibly different it could be. He had faced grief in the past days, a pain he had never faced before now. He had often in his youth forged the feeling. At times when others of his family remembered and mourned for those they had lost he had mirrored their sad and stern faces and copied their attitude of sorrow. But he had not truly known it. There were none dead that he could remember being alive. And so unlike his family, even Fili, he did not know what grief was. He never thought the first life he would mourn would be his own. And for the first time that pain, a pain within his broken heart was worse than anything he had ever felt before. He had known the aching of bruised and sore ribs. He had felt the stinging of cuts and scraps, and the throbs of broken limbs. And yet this was different in a way he had never known. This pain was every kind of agony, to body and soul. It was white heat leaping as fire through his body, aching and throbbing and burning deep and everywhere and yet only there, where the blade entered his flesh. And it was shock. Shock and disbelief roaming where his mind was slow to believe. Shock because this was different. Shock because in one moment he suddenly knew. This would kill him.

 **OOO**

Death was a strange thing really. It was always waiting, for one's entire life. Sometimes it was patient, waiting year after year, decades upon decades to claim its place in the cycle of one's life. Sometimes it came rushing in unseen, unlooked for and took where it had no right to reach. Sometimes it waited so long that it was begged for, pleased for with voices that didn't have anything left to ask for. Sometimes it robbed the play grounds of children, and stole those too young to be taken. But always, it came just when it meant to. And that was the strangest part. Because who got to decide when the last grain of sand had fallen through the glass? Who chose the moment of the last breath in a life of so many? When the last heartbeat dies in one's chest, who holds the shovel? Who dug the grave? Maybe the same hands that molded the life to begin with, the ones that carved every feature and even mark, the ones that mapped every step that would be taken, and every place where one would stumble.

Why did it seem that death favored only those that deserved it most?

Kili could still remember his mother's pleasing voice praising him for the rare occasions when he didn't wonder into mischief's keep, the few and far between times when he had bridled, for a moment, his ever present impulse to do exact what he want to. When he was young they were even more unlikely, nearly as frequent as a blood moon. Fili was always the good one, the one that did as he was asked more often than his mother's patience ran dry. He would bite his tongue a time or two more often than his younger brother, and would move a second quicker when he was told. If judged by any standard greater than a wayward, dark haired opposition to every rule that scurried around on two chubby legs always a step behind him, Fili could hardly be called anything but obstinate himself. But no matter what he did wrong, Kili always seemed to have taken one step further. And when actions had to be met with punishments, the elder never deserved quite as much as the younger. His hands were always just a bit less dirty. He was the good one of the two, though he wasn't really. Just smarter, and maybe a bit more mannered.

But even if he was not the good one, Kili had never been told that he was the bad one, or bad at all even though he knew sometimes he was. Instead, his mother always looked for the rare times she could praise him for. They were not always easily found, but she had diligent eyes. She always smiled and spoke of her approval, always nurturing the light in her youngest's eyes. Too many shadows had fallen over her face for one lifetime. Dis would do anything to keep the sunlight always close to her sons. Kili could remember her telling him he was good, even sometimes when he wasn't. More often than not though, he had tried to be good, his efforts met with limited success, his attempts hindered by his brash, eager whims endlessly springing to his mind quicker than the dandelions in a field. But he did try.

It wouldn't save him though. Being good didn't save him, it didn't spare him, and it certainly didn't keep the pain away. It was the pain that burning his eyes, the pain that turned them glassy and clear. It hurt where the blade was stuck in his stomach letting spill the crimson drops that took with them his life. A depthless ache swelled until it filled every space inside of him. There was only pain. He could feel it in the pulse that drummed in his fingertips. He could feel it in the heat that flushed over his skin. He could feel it in the sharp, deep breaths he struggled for. And he could feel it in the warmth of his blood as it bled bright so none could miss its presence or its purpose. Now the pain was so complete that it was placeless. Kili wouldn't have known its origin had Fili's knife not still been press into his flesh. He didn't want it there. Suddenly, Kili knew he didn't want to die with Fili's knife buried inside of him. With a trembling hand, quaking with pain and weakness and fear, he grasped the blade and wrenched it from his body. And his body screamed. His flesh cried out and his voice cried out together, and he gasped air down into his lungs so quickly he could feel them burn. Getting stabbed hurt. Dying hurt.

Kili had always thought there was good and there was bad. Those that saved and those that took. The light and the dark with no in between. But now looking as Fili's knife flung to the ground with dirt stuck to his own dark, sticky blood on its blade, Kili wasn't sure. Maybe something could be both. Maybe what gave also took and what saved, stole. Or maybe it was left to the hands that held power to decide. Perhaps far more was subject to the will of those that used them than free to act on impulses of their own. The very blade his brother had thrown to him to save his life, the very blade he had clung to with hopes of protecting it again, was the very same that had pierced his body, cut into his flesh, drew his blood, and the very same that would end him. Maybe nothing was completely good.

He didn't realize he fell until his head smacked the ground. His arms splayed to catch himself though his shoulder blades had already pressed into the mud and it was too late. The sky was brighter above him than the valleys of the black mountains around him. Morning seemed like a strange time to die.

There are times when one wonders if things could be any worse. When light and hope are equally scarce. When all seems lost in an overwhelming flood of despair. There ware times when one believes things could not be worse. And there are times when one knows they could not be. This was definitely his worse.

Kili was afraid, and he didn't even get to know what of. At least if he knew his fear he can face it, see it coming, meet it head on. But when he wasn't even sure what to fear, where death would take him, what it would do, he didn't even know where to look. It was hiding, lurking out of sight and that was far worse than knowing. It wasn't all the pain but the fear that coaxed the tears from his eyes. It was the absolute terror of meeting his death that beckoned them down his temples away from his colorless face. He didn't want to die.

He had promised his mother he would come back. And he had promised Fili. Not out loud, they didn't need that. They had always spoken best without speaking. But in every shared day, in every shared adventure, in every shared threat they had promised each other. Because they both knew as they grew closer that to pry their linked arms and hearts apart would be to destroy the other. And in silence, in every shared glance, in every unnamed smile, they had promised never to do so. Kili was only glad now that they were strong. His family. His mother, who should never have to wipe another tear, would do so again with her head still held up. His uncle, who had buried too many would do so again with strong, steady hands. And his brother, who had never done much of either, would not stay on his knees when grief took him there. He would stand back up. Kili loved them, and he wasn't ready. Not ready to die, not ready to leave them, not ready to say goodbye. Not ready. Not ready. But death doesn't wait until one is.

In one last, wild attempt he tried to stop it. With a heathen madness Kili begged in his heart to be spared, to be saved, to just survive. The will to live screamed louder and louder in his soul as a chill climbed in his breath. But his heart didn't listen, or fate, or anything.

And his trembling body went still.


	16. Chapter 16

**Before you all abandon this story in devastation (after the last chapter) I would suggest you read the summary again:**

 **"With the Mountain in sight it seems that they have succeeded at last. But they are wrong. Many struggles and trails still lay infront of them before they can rejoice. Starting with the members of Thorin's Comany left behind in Lake Town. The events of one night will cause a life time of regrets, hearts heaving with guilt, and pain that can not be undone. _But as long as hope still lives, no one is truly dead_." **

**All I can ask is that you continue reading and give the story a chance...after all, it's not over yet ;)**

 **Anyway, on to the next chapter!**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (16)** _ **'A Red Dawn Rising'**_

To say Bilbo was relieved to be released from Thranduil's prisons was hardly fitting. He was far beyond merely relieved and far closer to complete solace. He hadn't expected to be led through the Elvenking's halls to stand before his throne and be told they were freed, that a price had been paid for their heads and a satisfying deals struck. But thought surprised, Bilbo could hardly be more pleased. Only, perhaps, if their circumstances were not still so dire. More astonishing than their timely release though, was the sight of Thranduil, Thorin, and Gandalf all standing in silence awaiting their arrival. Bilbo would have expected their arguments, their usual discord. But to find the three of them in silence, with nary a scowl of anger to been seen was entirely unexpected. Their faces could be called little more than somber, maybe a generous description at that. But it was a far cry from the contempt that was usually seen and always strikingly obvious even if not looked for. The hobbit bounced on his feet with a curious mixture of excitement and unease. He was not sure how long this civil manner could last. And yet he was glad that the two sparring kings could put aside their ancient grudges for the moment.

It was reason enough to believe that their endeavor to save Kili was not lost, not entirely. If Thranduil would indeed let them go there was still hope, enough to gather back up yet again and carry on. It's what Bilbo had hoped for since the moment of being locked in his cell. And yet, as he faced his freedom, he was a bit fearful. Freedom to pursue Kili again meant freedom for failure. It meant the opportunity for success was matched by the opportunity to utterly fail. It was an agonizing paradox really. With each chance to succeed, to recover and save their stolen member came the equal chance to fail. And that was terrifying. Even to Bilbo who had only known the young, happy dwarf for a few months. He couldn't imagine the fear that Fili faced, that Thorin faced, or even the rest of the Company, many who had known Kili his entire life.

Bilbo wondered if most people failed because they could not succeed, or because they never had the courage to try. It seemed easy to let fear of failure just swallow them up even now. It seemed an easy option to just let fear wrap them up and keep them from going any further. Because even if it was painful, at least there would not be more pain to come. There would be no darker, deeper, more agonizing pain waiting for them in the future if they never walked that way. Turning away from any change of success or failure alike would be the easy way out, Bilbo was sure. But his group was not a cowardice one, and those that loved Kili were not weak. They would not stop while it was still bearable, Bilbo knew that. No, they would press on until they were all bleeding and hurting and there was nowhere further to go. And maybe they would have their victory in the end. And maybe they would not.

But regardless of the outcome, Bilbo suddenly found that he was not actually surprised at all that Thorin had found a way to free them. Because no task was too great and no effort was too difficult if asked in the name of family. Thorin could not give up and Thranduil could not refuse giving in. And so here they all stood now in a still, waiting with baited breaths for the dice to be thrown and the pieces to scramble again. And Bilbo wondered, with time against them, why no one had yet made a move? Why they were all standing in silence?

"If I am not mistaken," Thranduil broke the quiet as his eyes swept the group of dwarves and came to rest on the odd member among them, "you are the same halfling that freed these dwarves from my prisons last time."

Bilbo's eyes quickly rose to his former captor and now apparent host. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as he blinked in surprise. "I…umm" he stammered at last, "that is…you are not mistaken."

"I thought not," the Elvenking said simply.

When Bilbo did not volunteer any more, Thranduil spoke again, "Tell me," he said, "how has Oakenshield tricked you into this quest of his?

Again, Bilbo was surprised by the elf's words. He had certainly expected a rebuke regarding his role in freeing the Company before. And he hadn't expected the last of Thranduil's anger on the matter. But instead, he was being asked about an entirely different affair and found himself caught completely unprepared for the question and completely without an immediate answer. His mouth opened and then closed again when he realizing he didn't know what he was going to say. And then suddenly his stubbornness and pride rose up inside of him and a answer came.

"I was not tricked," he said with a hint of arrogance. "I am not foolish or so easily persuaded. Thorin was quite forthcoming about the journey to the Mountain." Bilbo remembered the rather detailed accounts the Company had offered that night months ago. And he remembered the long contract that he had read in acute detail only to sign in such brash haste. "In fact," he continued as he glanced about the Company, "I don't think they could have been more clear in their account of what this quest would hold."

"Why then are you here?" Thranduil questioned with what appeared to be genuine curiosity. "What has Thorin offered you?"

Treasure, itwas the word that rushed to the nearest tip of his tongue in an instant. But in a moment of his own curiosity, Bilbo stopped and wondered what kind of treasure he had truly been offered, and what exactly he'd been given. The contract had promised a fourteenth share of the gold and gems and jewels yes, but had it not promised something more in the spaces between the lines? Had it not offered the chance for adventure? Hadn't it given him a challenge, something ever so scarce in his life in the Shire? Hadn't it taught him so much, and hadn't it made him discover so many things? Bilbo swept the faces of his companions quickly, a faint smile pulling on the corners of him mouth. Hadn't it offered him a change to do it alongside all of them?

"Friendship," he answered Thranduil. "He offered me friendship. They all did."

The elf king's raised eyebrows were the only indication that Bilbo's answer came unexpected. He knew that hobbits were not as lustful for treasure as dwarves, but still he had expected Thror's horde of riches to have been the temptation securing Bilbo's presences among them now.

"And did you get what was promised? Was their payment fair?" Thranduil questioned the halfling.

"Yes," Bilbo answered with a pause, "I could not ask for more." He saw Gandalf smile from his place beside Thorin. And the dwarf king's eyes looked at him in silence. Bilbo's mouth twitched in their direction as he pondered the obscurity of his own words. He had set out on this journey to find whatever could be found: adventure, courage, excitement. But the one thing he had not looked for was friendship. He had friends. Very nice, quiet ones in the Shire that greeted him with a smile and polite words. Ones that would offer a hand if it was needed and provide company if he was lonely. But those very same friends could not give him what was offered when thirteen dwarves came knocking on his door. They could not give him a friendship that withstood every test of peril, and hardship, and hurt. A friendship that lasted even when the joy it was founded in did not. A friendship stronger than a liking or fondness. A friendship that could not be broken even when it had every chance to fall apart, when everything came against it. Iron could not be forged without the fire. And there was no fire in the Shire to test bonds. None hotter than a failing ember. So looking as his fellows now, Bilbo was indeed convinced that he had found something he never could have anywhere else, true friends.

The Elvenking watched Bilbo for a few moments just to be sure he was sincere, just to make sure the hobbit was not jesting or mocking him. But it was clear in his eyes that he was certainly earnest. But how? Could Thorin truly have earned the hobbit's genuine trust with just his friendship? Could he have truly bought his loyalty with an offer marked by promises and no proof at all? How was it that Thorin, whose entire family was known as little more than stubborn and prejudice, could have secured the devotion of one so timid and suspicious to begin with? Thranduil knew hobbits' nature, their inclination towards distrust and dislike for anything resembling a threat. They were not easily swayed from their caution opinions. And they weren't often persuaded from the comfort and safety of their homes. Not unless for a very good reason and not without some assurance of their protection. How was it then, that Thorin had earned not just enough trust to coax Bilbo from his hobbit hole, but also to earn this declaration of friendship, a title Thranduil would not soon have associated with the dwarf king. Could it truly be that Thorin had earned this status by his own merit without any deception at all? Or without a single bribes?

Changes, it would seem, had truly take hold.

"Why are we all standing about waging our jaws when we should be finding Kili?" Dwalin asked abruptly, interrupting the quiet lull.

"He's right," Fili agreed impatiently. "Thorin?" he questioned his uncle.

"King Thranduil has been kind enough to lend us some ponies," Gandalf answered for them. "As soon as they're ready we will depart."

"What need could you have for keeping ponies? You certainly couldn't fit them?" Bofur asked the Elvenking not with suspicious but purely curiosity.

"Our young ones fit them." Thranduil answered simply. And then, as if time itself was listening, a guard came at that moment.

"My lord, they are ready."

Thorin looked up at the elf king with a question, silently asking for their leave. Thranduil consented with a nod. "Follow my guard, he will see you out without trouble."

"Fare thee well king Thranduil," Gandalf offered with a tip of his head as he moved to lead the group. The rest followed wordlessly until only Thorin was left and he had to choose between silence or something. He stood there for a moment and then turned away without a word. And just as he thought he was free from Thranduil's halls at last he stopped.

"You have acted as a friend this day. I will not soon forget it," he said, looking over his shoulder but not enough to see the object of his words. Thorin didn't know why he said it. He didn't have to. And he didn't want to. But somehow he felt he should. It felt right, it felt true. If Thranduil acknowledged his words Thorin never saw it. But he moved again to follow his companions and this time he did not stop. Only one thing was before him now. Only one thing that mattered.

 **OOO**

Fili had lost all sense of time deep within Mirkwood's keeps. He wasn't at all sure if they would find day of night when they ventured back out into the forest. Be it either one, Fili knew it didn't matter. Not to him. He was going to travel as fast and as far as possible in the dark of the forest in day, or the blackness of the forest at night. He would be free of these cursed woods before he stopped again. Of that he was certain. When the Company did finally emerged from Thranduil's halls and into the forest again it was dark. The cold kind of dark where the day's warmth had been fading all night and the air was at its coldest before dawn warmed it back up.

The ponies that Thranduil had graciously provided did indeed helped. They couldn't be ridden within the forest. The brush was too thick and even where it was clearest the branches reached too low to travel mounted. The Company had to lead the ponies alongside the river where it was the only place they could walk at all . But still they helped. They carried supplies and fended off exhaustion a bit. More than that thought, they gave hope in the knowledge that once they were all finally free from Mirkwood they would be able to travel much faster. They would be able to reach Kili much faster.

The darkness that had enveloped them for too long finally waned at last when daylight grew on the horizon and dawn came with all of its promises for the day to come. Promises of hope, promises of pain. Every terrifying possibility came with the empty, unmarked morning sky. There were tales about the day break. Ones Fili had heard all of his life. Stories of red dawns, claims that a red sunrise alleged blood had been spilled that night. He knew some believed these tales with their every breath while others waved it off with the same hand that they waved away any number of ancient myths, and legends, and anecdotes. Some said if the sun roses red one should look for bodies. And others said these tales and their like were the stories of old men meant to tickle the ear. Fili had never worried enough to wonder if there was any thread for truth in such stories, if something as vast of the sky could really speak of the fate of a single life. Or why it even would. He had never watched a blush sunrise while the life of one he loved was unknown, while the absence of his brother pricked a fear and uncertainty in his heart. What might have once been irrational, unlikely, unimaginable even, now wasn't. Being pushed by fear to an utterly desperate state of madness had made Fili watch the sunrise the last few mornings with a new trepidation.

And so, when daybreak did come and the dawn rose clear and blue perhaps he should have be pleased or relieved. But somehow he was not. Somehow deep within him Fili knew he could not be relieved. He felt sick in the depths of his stomach. And despite the bright, blue sunrise, Fili somehow knew it was truly a red dawn. His soul was marked by crimson. His life was stained by an unending red dawn pledged by fear and misery. Each moment of each day he was fighting away the tremble of grief, and fending off the weight of sorrow, and keeping despair at bay. Because each day a terrifying, horrifying thought came: that he was already searching for a body. It was unthinkable and yet he did, even thought he wished not to with a desperate desire. Fili didn't want to consider the possibility of his brother's death for a second, not ever. And when the thought of it came he always banished it immediately, without hesitation. But not before the image of Kili's body lying at his feet was forced into his mind and carved into his heart. It was truly the very worst thing Fili had ever known. And it grated on his nerves and his resolve far more quickly than the cold, the hunger, the exhaustion. The fear was worse than anything.

Fili could not help but notice how fitting the dark forest was in mirroring his misery. He had always lived in light. From his very beginning brightness had been in his smile. Even his golden hair glowed. A shinning joy had carried his feet though every day. He had always been convinced that he and Kili lived in light itself. It was all around them, in everything they did. They didn't know sorrow. They didn't know pain. Those things had never come their way, or had not stayed long enough to rob them of their light. Even when his father had died Fili could not remember feeling hopeless or lost. Sad for a while yes, confused and hurt for a time. But the joy had never disappeared entirely. It had never completely vanished. He and Kili had always lived in light. And now darkness had come. And Fili didn't know how to move in it. He didn't know how to feel his way through the darkness. He had never don't it before. He didn't know how to keep from tripping, from falling on his face.

Some had known darkness. Some had known nothing but darkness. And they could maneuver it with ease, in pain, but without trouble. They knew how to find their footing even when they couldn't see their steps. Fili could see this painfully earned skill in some of his companions. He could see it in the older, more tried members of the Company. They knew how to manage this sudden darkness in a way that he could not. He tried to keep his struggle to himself, tried to match their long, sure strides. But if anyone watched too closely they would see him grouping in the dark, barely able to take anything but timid, unsteady steps. Of them all, Fili was the most unprepared, most unready to face this challenge. And he knew it.

He had always thought he was ready. He had trained and prepared all of his life. He had readied himself in every way he could. But now he felt entirely unequipped. He felt like he and Kili were summer knights, and now winter had come. They had only been ready, only been taught to fight in the warmth and the light. And now that the blinding wind and cold had come, Fili didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to fight a battle he had never prepared for. A battle he had been caught in without warning. A fight he had never thought he would face. He didn't know how to. He only knew that he must. His brother's life depended on it. And Fili knew his did to. He knew he wouldn't be able to live a life worth living without Kili. Being alive and living where not the same thing. Fili knew that now for the first time in his life. And he knew, without Kili, he would only be alive.

 **OOO**

Thorin felt a weight of every kind lift off him when the Company finally left Mirkwood and entered the plains that laid at the foot of the grey mountains in the late afternoon hours. They mounted the ponies and were soon traveling at many times their previous speed. There was comfort in knowing they were no longer inching towards Kili with tight, halting steps. The speed they had wished for their whole journey was at last possible. And Thorin could see the relief in the muscles of every face around him. None though, as obvious as his nephew's. Fili's eyes still strained Northwest nearly every minute. But there was a noticeable change in the way he held his shoulders down, and how he rested his hands in his lap as he rode. He was a little more at easy and for that Thorin was grateful.

Since the night that Fili had attacked him with accusations, Thorin had keep a watchful eye on his own actions. He had kept his eyes from drifting in his nephew's direction every spare moment. He had kept quiet his concerns for Fili's weary body and even more exhausted mind. And he had kept himself from addressing his nephew with the gentle voice he had come to use when he meant to sooth an injured mind or heart. It had not been easy to turn from Fili's pain without a word. It was not easy to let him face it alone. So many of Thorin's impulses told him not to leave Fili to his own dark thoughts and bleeding heart. Years of watching his nephews, hands always ready to catch them when they fell, made Thorin's task an unnatural one. Turning a blind eye while Fili was falling the fastest and furthest that he ever had was awful. But through it was difficult and painful to leave Fili be, Thorin found he could do it knowing it's what Fili desired. He wished to be treated with the same tough respect every other member was offered. And Thorin could do that. It was not easy to deny his habits and it was not easy to swallow his concerns. But he could.

The part that was harder thought, the part that weighed heavily with guilt, was trying to deny Fili's claims. He had accused his uncle of doubting him. Thorin had told him it wasn't true, that he did not and would never doubt him or his strength. But in the quiet, guarded part of his heart Thorin didn't know if he had meant it. He wanted to. He tried to. But he wasn't so certain that he trusted Fili's strength like he had promised. He had told Fili that he did not think him weak or fragile. But in the secret, hidden part of his mind he didn't know if it was true. It should be. Fili had earn the right to the trust and respect he desired. He had never done anything to warrant the skeptic gazes thrown his way, or the lack of faith in his abilities. Fili had proven himself in every way in every circumstance. He had never failed, never stumbled, never broken. And so Thorin knew he should trust his nephew, should trust his strength. He just didn't know that he fully did.

If Fili had any weakness, if there was anything that would cause him to fall, if there was any place of vulnerability it was Kili. Thorin knew better than nearly any how deep the brothers' devotion ran. How wide their shared world spanned. How far they would go for each other. How strong their love was. How quickly they would throw their own safety under danger's feet. How fast they would fall to save the other. And it scared him. If they were so willing to give themselves to protect each other, it meant neither was ever safe while one was not. If one was in peril, if one was facing danger, if one was being threatened with death then they both were. Thorin knew that even with Fili at his side he wasn't truly safe. Fili faced almost the same dangers Kili did. Because as soon as the chance came to save Kili, Fili would do any and all to see it done. Suddenly his life would not matter and suddenly he would be trivial and careless with his own safely. Fili would forgo caution for his own life in his attempts to save Kili's. That was how the brothers met every struggle, every challenge life hurdle their way.

Thorin had seen it time and again during the Quest. He had watched Fili and Kili forfeit their own defense for the sake of their brother's. It was their shared weakness. The only one they had besides their inexperience. But their love and loyalty also meant that they were each other's undoing. Fili's fear for his brother was nearly crippling him. Thorin could see his nephew's struggle despite his efforts to hide it. Thorin could see how truly fractured Fili was. How very lame Kili's absence made him. That was why, even if Fili had earned respect, and proven his ability, and promised his courage, Thorin was not sure. He could see how marred Fili's strength really was. He could see that Fili was not whole. Not without Kili. And so Thorin wondered if maybe Fili was fragile, if he was somehow weak? There was no doubt in any that knew them that Fili and Kili were strong, strong enough to take anything, to face anything. But just Fili? Alone? Thorin wasn't sure. He had never seen that naked, exposed, unprotected strength tested before in either of his nephews. They had never been alone. Maybe Fili was strong on his own, Thorin thought. And maybe he was not. Maybe not yet. Only time, it seemed-

"Stop," Gandalf's voice wrestled Thorin from his thoughts back to the grass plains of the grey mountains.

"What is it?" Thorin asked as his eyes searched for the object of Gandalf's alarm.

"It appears we have company," the wizard answered at he pointed slightly to the South. An image, dark against the fading sunlight, little more than a shadow, was moving towards them. The shadow, as it drew nearer, slowly shaped into a tall, thin body weakly moving their direction.

"What is it?" someone asked again to no one in particular. "More elves?"

"I believe it's only one," Gandalf said slowly as he watched carefully.

"One what?" Fili's voice was low and uneasy.

"Man."

The tall figure was finally drawing near enough to distinguish when he dropped. In a display of stunning drama, as he faced them with his back to the sun and his form nothing but a dark likeness, the man crumpled to the dirt in a voiceless moment.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed. I know there wasn't a ton of action in this one, but all in good time ;) Please let me know what you thought, what you did or didn't like. I love to hear from each and every one of you! Have a blessed day and thanks as always for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (17)** _ **'When Tomorrow Comes'**_

The fire never stopped moving, the flames jumping around without ceasing. Like a laugh. Appearing bright, growing quickly, spreading fast, then withering, fading, dying away again. Like the heart when it breaks, bright with happiness and then so quickly reduced to a dim sorrow. The way flames die when the wind blows or the air thins. Only Fili knew his quenching came in the form of pure misery.

Another night without his brother. Another night of possessive terrors. Another night of doubts and despair begging for him. Fili didn't want to face it. Not again. He knew eventually he would have to leave the fire and its distraction that keep night from reaching him. But he would stay for now, for as long as he could. Escaping pain was not easy, never. So when he found a place to hide from it, just for a while, Fili had learned that he should hide. Only for a while. And the fireside had become his refuge the past nights. It wasn't that his heart spared him there. It wasn't that he felt nothing. No, he felt everything. It was like a roar, an echo chanting in his head every possible thing. And it was in the roar that he could escape. There was no one pain, no one fear that could take him. They could reach him, but not hold him. Because as soon as they tried something else came, something different and nothing had a chance to craw all the way to his soul and wreck him. They were all pulled away too quickly. It was as he watched the flames in silence that he heard the roar. And it had been his escape the past nights. But not now.

Now, he twitched with desperate impatience, staring at the untouched meal in his hands. The only hunger he felt was that of intrigue. Unanswered questions growled inside him. Fili glanced across the fire at the old man who had yet to say anything but a scarce mumble. He was slowly feeding himself, cautiously taking his time not to choke. It seemed odd that he watched his own actions and not that of the strangers surrounding him. He was either too trusting or too foolish. And Fili found fault with either. The young prince waited, fidgeted anxiously, eager and desperate for someone to break the insufferable hush.

After retrieving the collapsed man from the ground where he had dropped in exhaustion, the Company had stopped for the night. The had put the flats that lay before the Grey Mountain behind them and had reached the canyons that fringed Gundabad by dusk. Night had come and Fili had been told they could not go on any further in the dark even if they had not had to revive a crippled, old man. It did not sit well with him that another night had come and still they had not reached Mount Gundabad. Another night and still they had not reached Kili. It angered him, pained him, torn him to pieces all at once. His brother's absence chewed at him with furious hunger always. But his torture would not last much longer. Not this form of it anyway.

Tomorrow they would reach Gundabad. No one had said as much, no one had acknowledged the fact aloud. But they all knew it. Tomorrow, at last, they would reach the fortress. The thought was one of relief, violent, overwhelming relief. Time did strange things to fear. It stretched it, swelled it, grew it. Time breathed life into fear like air into a pair of lungs. And come tomorrow Fili would be able to exhaled for the first time in what seemed like an agonizing lifetime. He could breath out some of the terror, the torment. He would be able to simply breath again.

But for now it remained. And Fili had to swallow the pain away over and over again just so he survived. He was so ready, so desperate to be rid of the pain, so ready to reach Gundabad on the morrow. Relief, however, was not the only sentiment to be named with reaching their destination at long last. The thought was one of complete uncertainty. Fili did not know what he would find at the fortress. He could not possibly know what he would face. And the endless, vague possibilities were an unstemmed source of fear themselves. Not knowing, the doubts, the hesitations, they was their own form of torment. One well acquainted with waiting, with time. Fili felt sick, disgusted with the fears that controlled him so completely. And it was only distractions that would balm the ill feeling of terror inside him. Distractions, which Fili welcomed now with desperate fervor.

"I am Gandalf," the wizard at long last spoke, focusing every eye and attention to the old man sitting among them. "And this is Thorin Oakenshield and his Company." Gandalf gestured to the group, quickly turning back to the man. The stranger's eyes opened wide for a bare moment in recognition. He knew both names. Had he had a stroke of self-worth left in his old body he might had been intimidated by the grandeur of these new companions. But when one is already crawling on the ground there is nowhere further for pride to fall. No mistakes or offenses could render him lower than he was already. So what good was being intimidated when he had nothing more to lose…least of all pride?"

"What is your name?" Gandalf asked next, the entire camp waiting in silence for the answer, eager to learn who they had recovered from the dirt.

"I am Hadrion," he answered, his eyes moving around the group watchfully.

"Where do you come from?"

"I was born in Pinnath Gelin. I grew up there."

"The Green Hills. That is far from here," Gandalf pressed for more.

"I didn't stay there," the old man continued. "I should have. But I didn't..."

 _He childhood was short lived and yet much too long. Pinnath Gelin was a small settlement. One in which everyone knew each other perhaps too well. There was little that all didn't know about everyone else, and few secrets ever kept by lips loosened by familiarity. With so many friends and so few strangers there were few places to hide truths. And those that were buried rarely stayed so for long. Thus it was known by most long before Hadrion was old enough to know himself, that his father was a scoundrel; a gambler, a swindler, and an unfaithful husband. Many cold shoulders had been turn at his father's sight, and many disapproving scowls met by his appearance. It was not the folks' treatment of his father that had angered Hadrion from his early youth. They had a right to their judgment, and he couldn't find fault in it. Their contempt for his father was not misplaced. No, he didn't begrudge the people for their opinion. It was his parents that earned his distain so quickly, so young._

 _His mother knew of her husband's wrongs, knew of the wrongs made against her and she did nothing. She was ever the weak, the quiet, the complacent mouse that had created her fate to being with, that crafted it day by day. It was not that there was no escape. It was that she never even looked. She excepted her miserable and unfair fate with silence, without ever a single protest uttered. And Hadrion could not forgive her for it. He could not forgive her weakness._

 _His father was not weak. No, his flaws were entirely his own. Perhaps if he would at least have care for the venomous gazes so frequently offered him, or if he had found offence in the hatefully words used to portray his likeness, then Hadrion could had pardoned his father's lack of self-control and decency. Maybe if his father would have only disliked the distasteful opinions of himself then Hadrion could had overlooked how wretched he truly was. But instead his father never showed any remorse. He never made any effort to hide his shameful nature. And rather than constructing deceitful guises as masks to wear, he seemed to claim his wretched nature and actions with an awry sense of pride that doomed any future chance of redemption for himself, and any future hopes of respect for his son._

 _That was the deep, unforgiving root of Hadrion's hatred for his father. He had ruined completely not only his own life, but that of his son's with each of his loathsome vices. No one would ever look Hadrion's way without expecting that same mistakes to become his own. There was nowhere for him to turn, on second chances for him thought he had never done anything to ruin his first. His father had done that for him. And his father was not sorry for it._

 _His parents had failed him, of that Hadrion was certain. And so he had left, every young and every full of contempt for the world. He had grown so quickly that he missed too much. He was still a child in the way he clung to his rage like it was he lifeline. He thought it was his fuel and he drank it up in greedy gulps. But he was foolish and even good intentions could not stay that way long with fury guiding them in the background._

"…when I was still too young to be wise I traveled to the coast of Gondor. There were trading ships traveling the coast and I took work with them. It was honest, for a while. But then came the mistakes. The lies. We were foolish and greedy. We began keeping a little of what we shouldn't and taking where we could. Soon there was no honesty in us or what we did."

"You were pirates?" Thorin accused, heat growing in his sharp eyes.

"Yes," Hadrion nodded quietly. "The worst of its kind. They called us the Corsairs of Umbar. We were not content to steal from the other ships. We wanted more. I wanted more…"

 _Riches were not enough. They became inadequate in quenching the thirst for more. So the Corsairs of Umbar took the ships too, stealing vessel and men both. The treasure was plundered. The ships sold or used. The men given a choice. Some chose to barter their lives away and join the band of thieves. The others chose to die. It was a darker twist then Hadrion had ever intended, darker than he had ever looked for. Murder was on the other side of the line his conscious had etched into the sand. But it crept up slowly, without notice. The degree of malice it took to take an innocent life crawled its way into the band's heart quietly so they didn't notice what they were becoming. It was discrete enough that they didn't notice what their hands were doing, or the bright blood stains on their palms._

 _Until it was too late._

 _The revelation came only after it was too late to undo what they had done. Without openly inviting it, they had become killers of the worst kind. Evil, the pure, untempered kind had wrestled into the heart of the group and suddenly it was who they were. There was no other identity left to claim. So most of them did. They closed their eyes and their conscience and grabbed on to this new existence and wore it as a new coat. But Hadrion never could._

"…I never did it. I never could kill innocent men. But I watched. I could have stopped it…could have tried. But I didn't. I just watched." Tears had gathered themselves in the old man's pained eyes and waited, brimming, to fall. "For years that's all I did. For years we stole and pillaged. We got rich. The wealth…it was all that I have ever wished for. But…" he shook his head with a distant yet acute disgust, "I didn't want it. I couldn't enjoy it. There was no pleasure in what I had."

"Why did you not quit then?" Bilbo asked.

"I did. I fled from it all one day, finally…I should have long before. It ruined me. I was left with nothing. No more wealth. No home. And no way to undo what I had done for so long." Hadrion grew quiet, his trembling voice fading to silence.

His was a broken tale of wrongs and nothingness. Some of the Company watched him with judgment and scorn for the first, and the others looked on with pity and grief for the second.

"And where is it you are going now? Gandalf at last broke the uncomfortable quiet.

"Anywhere." It was a strange answer. Fili's body leaned closer in anticipation, his interest pricked and instincts stirring in his gut.

"Where then, are you coming from?" the Grey Wizard inquired pointedly.

"I am fleeing, again."

"From where?" Thorin asked sharply.

"Gundabad."

The effect of that single word was immediate. Bilbo's eyes grew wide in sudden shock and attentiveness. Concern and interest both lit like a spark under his feet making him stand in surprise and move closer to the old man to see if he was truly earnest. Except he already knew the answer because why would one tell such a horrible fiction?

Most of the Company gazed from this stranger and his remarkable claim to each other with uncertainty and suspicion.

Thorin's body froze, his mind anything but. Before him, embodied in the withered face of an old thief was knowledge about everything deemed important in that fire-lit moment. Information about Gundabad, about the orcs there, about the prisoners there, it was in arms reach and Thorin had to still his body from reaching out and grasping for it in desperation.

Fili's reactions was the least noticeable, and so immediately gained Gandalf's notice. The young heir did not move, did not flinch, didn't utter a sound. It was only the unyielding strain of Fili's eye on the old man's that promised he had heard Hadrion's words at all. Fili only stared, almost without seeing, entirely lost to himself. He was swallowed in mere seconds by an indecisive struggle of emotions. Had this man maybe seen Kili? Did he know of Kili's wellbeing or lack of it? Did Fili really want to know the answer? At last he surfaced from the depths of his wonderings and instantly opened his mouth to voice his countless questions when he felt an unfamiliar pressure on his shoulder.

"Fili, patience," Gandalf murmured in his ear as he held the young dwarf's body and voice still with a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, "you will have time to ask your questions but first give him a chance to tell his tale. There is little we can give him, but attention and silence it something."

"But-" Fili's objection came immediately.

"What is a few moments of waiting more young Fili?" the wizard quieted him again. "We can go no further this night no matter what he reveals. Let him speak." A few moments more? No, like a lifetime it seemed. It felt like it mattered a lot, like his brother's life was being outweighed by the storytelling of an old man. Like no one cared at all for Kili the way he did. Like Kili's safety wasn't the most important thing that could even be imagined. As it was, Fili's surrender came more by demand than compliance. For Hadrion had again begun talking before Fili even heard who had prompted him.

"Many, many years I was there. I had not left Gondor long before they took me…"

 _Years of wrongs could not be made right by a sudden inclination of regret, or any of the efforts to right them that followed. Even if one can find the straight and righteous path again they can not tread it without the remnants of the dark and twisted course they had traveled remaining. One could pick from their clothes the dead branches, the mistakes, that had snagged them. They could dust off the lies. And they could stomp the failure from their boots. But the tangles in their hair remained, as did the scratches on their face and the smell of dark dampness. One could not escape the places they had been._

 _Nor should they._

 _Wrongs deserved punishment. Those made without regret justified unremorseful retribution, swift or long overdo. Wrongs were only wrongs until they were righted, And then they were mistakes. But mistakes too were meant to be paid for. There was no way out of the traps greedy, selfish, unkind, and cruel hands built for themselves. That was why Hadrion knew even as he fled the Corsairs of Umbar that he could not flee from the fate waiting for him. He had earned a harsh reckoning. His was a future of shadows he knew, no matter how far he ran or how fast he went. So when fate had snatched him up one day in the form of dark, orc arms he knew justness had been handed him. All that he deserved was offered by the ugly hands that had guided him for too long. The reaping of all that he had sown had fallen into his lap. Hadrion knew the Gundabad dungeon he was give had long had his name etched into its stone._

"…I deserved what I got. I never doubted that," he said quietly, his aged hands shaking gently.

"How did you escape?" Dwalin asked the pointed question, endeavoring to lead the tale from remorseful reveling to more useful and more resent details.

"Escape? No, I would not call it that…"

 _Hadrion knew he should die a prisoner. He had expected it, had excepted it, and had even begun to wish for it. Torture did its best work over time. And the orcs had had plenty of it with Hadrion. His imprisonment was a rare thing as the orcs chose to keep him alive for many unending years. They took everything, stripping it all away piece by piece until there was hardly anything left to keep living. Hope was the only thing that kept alive an otherwise dead spirit. For years it was hope that kept the heart beating in his chest. For year it was all the stood between him and death. It was strange then, when one day he realized the only hope he had left was hope of dying. He wanted to die, to escape his misery finally, forever. He wanted it. He didn't get it. But so many others that didn't want it, didn't deserve it, did._

 _It was not fair that after so long of captivity when he was finally dragged into the light again with all of the others and doomed to die outside of the mountain fortress he did not. Why he was given the chance to flee, again, while all the rest remained and died he would never know. Why he was spared the death he deserved, and why it was given to all the ones that didn't he would never understand. If he had had any trace of courage left he would have stayed and died with them all. But he was a complete coward. He was as afraid of dying as he was living and so when the undue moment came when Hadrion realized he was not surrounded by orcs and could get away without being seen he had taken it. But not before he saw them kill so many. He had escaped and then turned back, hidden from view and wretchedly safe. And he had watched them all die._

"…I fled from the death that should have been mine. So no, I did not escape. I deserted my fate."

Killing prisoners? It was the only thing Fili really heard, the only thing his now spinning mind grabbed onto. No. _No_.

"My brother, I'm looking for my brother." The words fell out fast, completely beyond Fili's control. No longer could he keep the question silent. No longer could he push Kili's fate to a quiet, future moment of focus. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to. "He would only have been brought there a few days ago. He's a few years shy of me, and his hair-"

If Fili had actually been watching Hadrion's face as he spoke he would have seen the old man's fallen features, the way his chin and eye slipped down, and would have noticed the soft sign the he breathed. But Fili wasn't really paying attention, waiting only for Hadrion's words as a response.

"They killed him."

No they did not. They could not. It was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Impossible. No, no they did not. Fili felt his heart stop. He felt his blood chill inside him. No, no this old man was a fool. Kili was not dead.

"They killed him first. They killed all the dwarves first, then all the rest." the old man's voice was barely stronger than a hollow whisper.

Fili didn't know at first that his head was shaking. It wagged on its own, his desperate heart telling it to. His body was trembling. And it took a moment to understand why his uncle looked so strange when their eyes met. There were tears in Thorin's eyes. Bright, grieving, excepting tears. The stricken, pained faces of the rest of the Company were only a step behind in their sorrow.

Fili realized with an almost bitter taste in his mouth that the look of grief all over them, it wasn't new. It had been there for days. Tucked back, distant, smoldering but there. Some more than others, some brighter, more obvious, but they all wore it. Days ago they had somewhere deep inside of them excepted the death of their youngest prince. Maybe some when they first heard he was taken. Maybe some more recently. But Fili could see it now in the fresh drenching of grief they wore, they were not shocked by Hadrion's words. They had already known, decided in themselves that Kili was dead. Even Thorin. Fili watched even his uncle stand there, hurting, aching with grief, and yet not surprised by it. Even Thorin already thought Kili was dead.

With a painful swallow Fili realized also, in the sudden tears and unsteady stance of the Company, that even they had not known it. Or not all of them. Their minds had decided something their hearts hadn't yet. But they knew. And they had been telling him for days. For days their eyes had told him that they had given up hope. For days their quiet had told him they were already grieving, even if they didn't realize it. And for days they had been asking him to do the same. They had silently, perhaps without realizing it, been asking him to stop grasping for straws, to stop fighting every shred of sense, to stop hoping for the hopeless. They had been fighting against his hope without anyone noticing.

It's why he felt so alone. Fili's endless hope was entirely his own. The others did not share it. For them it was no longer there, or never was, and Fili had been left alone with all of his hope-filled ideas. He had been fighting the war against terror, pain, and grief on his own. Alone. The others were already casualties of the very same. They had already fallen without him knowing it. He had been fighting alone.

Fili looked at them, the faces of the whole Company. All of their stares were sad and stern, begging him to acknowledge the truth they could see him fighting to refuse. To agree that his little brother was dead. And Fili realized at that moment that he was tired. He was tired of fighting them. He was tiered of being alone. Facing Kili's death would be easier than this. It would be more painful. Much, much, much more painful. Admitting his brother was dead meant facing the undeniable sorrow, the agony, it brought. But to his quickly fading strength it would be easier. He wouldn't have to defend fragile hope. He wouldn't have to constantly chase away doubts. He wouldn't have to wrestle the fear. He wouldn't have to defy his companions and kin. He wouldn't have to fight wisdom and counsel. He wouldn't have to ignore reason and logic and sense and even proof. In so many ways it was tempting, to take Kili's death as a blow and just let himself fall. Perhaps he would never get back up. And he didn't care. He would not have to struggle to hold himself together any longer. It was something he did not think he could do. Always had he had his brother to help him. When hardship came they had always been strength when the other was weak. They had always stood when the other needed to rest. They had always held each other up so they couldn't fall. Fili had never had to do it alone. And even if he could, even if he could find the strength somewhere, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

But he could hear Kili's voice in his heart scolding him for his weakness. Kili was never weak. Kili would never take the easier way just because it was easier. Kili would never give up on him. And Fili decided at that moment, he would not give up either. He would not resign himself to his brother's end. He would not let himself let go and fall where all the others had. He would not change his mind even as such doubt stared back at him. He would not give up on his brother. Did he really have a choice? No. He could not face the pain. Fili knew in his heart he could not face the pain of a world without his little brother's light. It would be too dark a place. It would be too hopeless. He had to grasp tight to the hope that had always been captured in his brother's smile. The smile Fili could see behind his closed eyes, a permanent and favorite fixture of his mind. He could not face a world without Kili. He was not ready to give up. Not yet. He would find Kili, alive. He had to…he had to.

"No. He is not dead."

"Fili…" it was Oin that spoke first.

"I would know. He isn't dead." It sounded true, almost. Fili felt that somewhere within him, in the pulse of his heart or maybe the pit of his stomach, somewhere, he would know if Kili was gone. He would know if his little brother's life had been ripped away from him. He would know if Kili was dead. Right?

"He said," Nori paused with a tearful frown and a glance at Hadrion, "he said they killed him first."

"It could have been someone else," Fili refused, throwing a suspicious gaze at the human. How could he know if it was Kili? How could this man know if it was the prince of Erebor that he had seen die? He couldn't.

Bombur was the next to speak, gently, slowly, like he was speaking to a child, "He said they killed all of the dwarves there, Fili."

Fili's mind scrambled, his heart still pounding. No. Kili had been spared, he knew it. But how? "Maybe they never took him there after all. Maybe he wasn't at Gundabad when they started…"

"Lad," Gloin said with a sad and skeptic look, "we know they were taking him towards-"

"Towards the fortress, yes. But maybe they never got there. They could have changed their minds." No one answered him this time, but Fili could tell from their lowered eyes and doubt-filled expressions that they still did not share his hope.

"We can not give up now, not without knowing. We can't just abandon him. We can not turn back." Fili was pleading now, desperate. He would go on. He didn't need them if they weren't willing. If they refused to join him he would go on alone. He would. But he didn't want to. Fili looked around at all of their unmoved faces, their uncertain stares. "Thorin," he begged his uncle as he realized the dwarf king had not yet said a single word.

His grandfather had been the first one of his kin he watched die. Then there had been so many that followed. Thorin felt like since the day when the dragon robbed him of his home, he'd been tethered to death, like its hand were always around his throat. One after the next. Loss after loss. Death after death. Thorin could still remember the pain that sprang into his heart as he watched Thror die. The raw, brand new grief that ignited in his chest. Through the years, through the deaths the sorrow had changed, shaped into something different, something harder. With each loss the sharpness had waned and a terribly deep ache had taken its place. His grief had become something not new but painfully familiar, its presence too frequent, its touch too well known. Thorin was too acquainted with sorrow. He had known too much death to let it fool him now. He knew that hope only made it harder. He knew that it only extended the torment longer than it otherwise would stretch. And Fill could see those old doubts, he could see the lifetime of grief in his uncle's eyes, could see the cautions already building around Thorin's heart.

Thorin was too afraid too hope. Almost.

There was a tiny, thin thread of desperation left. Just enough to feed the hope, to keep just enough of it alive inside him. Fili watched it glow and fade in Thorin's eyes. Desperation fighting its way to the surface then being pulled back down by reason. A battle in his mind. Fili glanced at the rest of the Company for a moment too. Wasn't there a bit of that frantic, illogical hope left in them too somewhere? If it were truly, completely absent then they would not all be standing there with him now. They would not have came with him at all.

They were all without hope, almost. But not quite.

Thorin blinked the tears from his eyes and swallowed. An equal measure of despairing doubt and impossible hope wrestling inside him. "Tomorrow," he said with a glance at his elder, trembling nephew, "we go on to Gundabad."

 **OOO**

Balin approached the man loudly as not to startle him. Sitting alone on an empty side of the fire and a ways from the warmth of the flames, Hadrion was completely without company. He lifted his weary eyes as the white haired dwarf neared, then dropped them again listlessly.

"You can sleep on these," Balin offered, holding out the few blanket that some had given up from their own bedding. Hadrion glances up again then nodded weakly as Balin set them on the ground.

"It's much warmer by the fire," the old dwarf informed, "you can come back over if you wish." Hadrion shock his head gently, offering Balin the answer he had already expected. The human had retreated from the group at the first possible opportunity, escaping as soon as he was not being overwhelmed with questions any longer. He did not wish to stay so close to the unpleasant looks given him by the Company it seemed. Some accusing, scolding, and unkind. And some pitiful, desperate, and troubled. But all disagreeable. So he had withdrawn to solitude where any scorn or pain was his own. His privacy was broken only now by Balin's presents.

The old dwarf watched Hadrion in silence for a moment, the real reason he had volunteered to gather the blankets and deliver them himself twisting around his tongue desperate to be let out.

"Are you sure," he finally asked with a deep breath, "it was him?" He had to know, to be assured one way or another. Balin wanted to know what he would truly face on the morrow, even if he was the only one.

"He was a prince if I ever saw one," Hadrion answered softly, his voice so low it could hardly be heard, like there was no strength in it. "He was proud. And too young and foolish to be afraid. He defied the orc, Bolg. I could see, something, there was a strength in him. And a mad courage. But I don't think he really knew what he was doing. He was just doing it. Almost like he was daring death itself to stop him."

The silence that followed his words surprised Hadrion and he looked to the dwarf questioningly. There were new, bright tears shinning in Balin's eye.

"It was Kili," he whispered with a choke and Hadrion knew the words were said more for his own sake. "It was him…" Grief grabbed Balin in that moment, clenching tight and twisting hard.

"Will you tell me how he died?" he asked at last, the tears wetting his face now. A tremor of heartache shook his voice, and a sob nearly stopped them from coming. Balin listened then in unimaginable sorrow, his ears ringing in disbelief and despair, as Hadrian retold the tragic and undue tale of Kili's end. It was not a long story, but a painful, mournful one.

"I saw the blade…and then he fell," the old man finished, his body sunk low and his chin nearly on his chest in exhaustion and distress.

Balin did not answer. He only sat there in silence, his misery so whole that his body rocked with pain.

"Why?" he finally questioned weakly. He wanted to know. He wanted to know why Kili and all the rest had been dragged out of the mountain and killed at its mouth, why suddenly Bolg no longer wanted his prisoners?

Hadrion never answered.

Balin looked at him closely with concern when he did not speak, noticing the limp fall of his hand and the stillness of his chest. He was dead.

How unfair was it that he had escaped only to die? How cruel that age, and torture, and exhaustion would wait until he was at last free to take him. The death that would have spared him so much came only after the threats to be spared from were gone. This old man had died a miserable injustice, yet all by his own hands' making. Some deserved death. Some needed it to right the wrongs, to fix the mistakes. For some, it was the only amends for their very life, the only reckoning that offered justness. Some needed death.

But Kili did not.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you thought! And thank you as always for the reveiws, follows and favorites, they mean so much Thank you for reading. Have a wonderful day :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 2 |**

 **-A Lost Prince-**

 **Chapter (18)** _ **'The Hammer's Fall'**_

They could smell it before they saw it.

The previous night had been one of quiet panic. The kind of panic that stands on the edge and screamed at the top of its voice into the void but without making an actual sound. The kind that's echoes stir and pitch through one's whole body shaking it and beating it from the inside out. The kind that leaves its sufferers utterly exhausted and as close to despair as one can trend without actually slipping into it. And not a single member of the Company had been spared its presence throughout the night. Unforeseen tragedy seemed to be the only constant stamp upon their Journey and its hand was not yet spent.

Their Quest had been one of challenges, one followed by the next, each unlooked for and each with its own struggles. The Company had become improved at facing them with more presence and composure than they would have at their Journey's beginning. And so, after Balin had stunned them all with the report of Hadrion's sudden death they had acknowledged his words with only a moment's blink of surprise, and then had carried on in just the way they had learned they must when faced with misfortune, they simply did. They buried him. Some had stood by the freshly overturned dirt of his grave in silence for a few scarce moments, a more fitting end then the rest decided he deserved. The ones that paid any respects did so out of a pity not all their companions shared.

Fili had not stood with them. He had stayed near the fire far from the old man's burial and not even his eyes had wandered in its direction. He had realized with only a thread of guilt that he had received the news of Hadrion's end with little displeasure. Part of him hated the death man. Not for any of his past crimes, or even for the titles he had collected over his loathsome lifetime be it thief, scoundrel, or murder. No, Fili despised him for much more recent offensives.

He had sat there and told him that Kili was dead.

Part of Fili detested Hadrion for daring to speak such hateful words to him. Didn't the old man know what they would do to him? Didn't he realize they would nearly wreck him? Didn't he know they would wring his body for tears? Didn't he realize what he was saying?

How thankless, how cruel could he be that he would say something so hurtful to the very same who had recovered him from the dirt, fed him, and let him speak his piece freely? A mistake, Fili realized now. They should not have let a delirious old man spew awful tales, should not have given him the chance to convince fragile, weary minds of terrible things. Fili was upset, he was angry and pained that Hadrion was not the only one foolish enough to believe his own horrifying story. The young prince didn't understand how the Company could so quickly trust this man's words. His lies.

Because they had to be that. They could not be more than crazed, confused falsehoods.

Kili was not dead. He could not be.

For the entire night that single thought had roamed every part of Fili's mind. Dark hour after cold hour it stirred inside him endlessly. Quiet panic. Like there was a wild, angry, terrified scream in his throat but a hand was clamped over his mouth, its fingers a perfect seal to silence and trap his cries. And he was not the only one. The others felt it too, in the aching part of their chest, in the hollow part of their gut, in the desperate part of their soul. They could feel the fear swelling inside them so frantic, so desperate, but with nowhere to go, no release to be found. And none of them could rid themselves of it.

Thorin had known trepidation before. It had tarried many times with him in its various forms. As he watch his grandfather change from the strength and sense that ordered most of his reign to the reckless, greedy lust that rendered him little more than a fool, the apprehension he'd felt was a drawn out thing, its duration reaching for months, years. He had felt the growing alarm acutely the night before the King led them all to the bloodbath at Moria's gates. And he had seen that same alarm mirrored by too many faces he trusted and loved to be eased. He knew that darkness was before them. He'd known it then just as he knew it now. What they would find in that darkness this time, Thorin was not yet sure. But now his trepidations came to him like never it had before. Now it was larger, more powerful, the fear itself a beast inside him. Never had it attacked him like it did that whole night, keeping him awake while it fed on his worst nightmares.

Thorin loved Kili. He had always loved Kili. And he knew that his nephew's death would wound him in a way he had never been wounded before. This time he would not be losing a shoulder to lean on, or a hand to hold, or a neck to hug. This time he would be losing the one he cradled in his arms, the child he whispered hushed lullabies to when he was sure no one else was near enough to hear them. And that was different.

Losing someone that was always meant to stand beside him, that had always stood beside him was heartbreaking. Like his family. Thorin had only ever needed to look to his side to find his brother, his father, or any of the others he held dear. For even if Frerin, and Dis too, were younger than he, Thorin knew they were every bit as strong as he. Even if he had always wanted to protect them, they had never let him stand before them and guard them from their threats. They had always stood beside him, their toes on the same line as his, and their faces turned the same direction. He had never been their shield, even if he wanted to be.

But losing someone under his protection, one that had always been behind his shield was unbearable. Kili was meant to be kept safe, watched after. Thorin had made it his task the moment the babe was born. And the thought of that failure, of losing one he loved so deeply was a most miserable, horrifying thing. Thorin knew it would wound him in a place he never had been before. He had lost a brother, and a father, and nearly his entire family. But he had never lost a child.

And he was not sure if he could bare it. Just as he was certain that Fili could not bare to lose his younger brother. Not without breaking apart.

So it was with an equal measure of impatience and dread that Thorin and every other member of the Company watched daylight come and gathered their possessions to travel the remaining distance to Mount Gundabad. Bilbo was the first one really, prepare to depart even before Fili was. He was not at all eager to reach the mountain for he knew that even if Kili was not found dead there would still indeed be death and lots of it. The carnage they were all walking into seemed to have been forgotten by most of the Company, or ignored. Their focus was so wholly fix on their youngest prince that they did not consider all of the other lives Bolg had in his keeping. All the lives that were cut down, whether Kili was among them or not. No, Bilbo was not eager to reach Gundabad. Nor did he feel ready to learn of Kili's fate for certain. He had not lost all hope. But his fear was ever growing and he could not help the swelling dread inside him as he looked towards the old fortress. He didn't feel ready if he was to find his young friend dead.

But despite all of his apprehensions, Bilbo wanted to reach their journey's end and all that would greet them there. Because even if he did not feel ready to face it, he absolutely knew he couldn't go on any longer _not_ knowing. He felt like he'd been staring into the night for days, a black wall of unknowns. He had heard noises in the dark, unnamed sounds, whispers, and cries. But he couldn't see their source, couldn't see what they meant and all he wished for was daylight so he could see, even if it revealed a battleground around him of pain and death. Because at lease he would finally _know_. At least he could finally face it in the daylight rather than shirt it in the dark.

It was not with a naïve heart that Bilbo looked towards the fortress any longer thought. The horrible possibilities that could wait for them there were not lost to him. He knew, with a heart a bit too certain, that a truly heartbreaking sight could be their destination. He knew whatever they found could be the last stone kicked away to let the rockslide loose. He knew they could be buried by grief. And if they were, he wasn't sure they could dig back out. Not all of them.

" _Gandalf,"_ he had asked as they began to journey the remaining distance to Gundabad, _"what do you think we will find, when we get there?"_

The old wizard had only shaken his gray head with a frown. Bilbo was not certain if the gesture meant he was not sure, or if he was sure of an unhappy answer.

" _How well do you know the lads?"_ he had asked next after a moment of pause.

" _Fili and Kili?"_ Gandalf raised a perplexed eyebrow _. "Not as well as I would like,"_ he answered when Bilbo nodded. _"They have an abundance of energy, and optimism, and bravery too. Thought not always wise."_ His mouth had twitched with a gentle smirk, " _Why?"_

Bilbo swallowed with a guilty frown, hating himself for even asking, _"Do you think either of them could make it on their own? I mean, do you think Fili would be alright without Kili?"_

" _Alright? No,"_ the wizard shook his head. _"But I think he is strong."_

" _So you think he would survive?"_

Gandalf had looked at Bilbo with puzzlement. _"What are you asking?"_

" _Do you think he would still be him, or would he be…something else?"_

The wizard had nodded slowly in understanding. _"You're wondering if he can still be Fili without Kili? You're wondering if we might not lose them both if we lose one?"_

Bilbo blinked in confirmation.

" _I think there are some fractures that will never mend. But you can never tell which ones they are until after the healing is done."_

Bilbo had found himself hoping desperately all morning that no healing would be needed, that there would be no wound to mend at all. Because besides his fondness for Kili, he also feared losing the archer's brother as well. He wasn't sure that even the whole Company could catch all the shattered pieces of Fili's heart if he found his little brother gone, lost beyond recovery. Bilbo couldn't held but believe that it would not be a fracture at all but a chasm that would open up the young dwarf's heart. And he couldn't help but fear that it would not take long for the rest of Fili to fall into the void.

He had watched Fili carefully that morning wondering how to offer comfort to his young companion without inciting resentment. How was one to give comfort when the need for it was refused? Fili had made it clear that he did not believe his brother dead, or even the possibility one at all. He was convinced that Kili still lived, was still well. And so he did not want, for he believed he did not need, anyone's consolation or pity. Bilbo wasn't sure how to lend his troubled friend support without offending his still unshattered hope in Kili's wellbeing. He didn't know what soothing words would be received well, or what approach would not appear too sympathetic. In the end he had decided that silence was his best option. Because at least silence could not so easily be interpreted as hopeless the way words could. Which Bilbo was sure Fili heard in most of the Company's remarks, hopelessness.

It was said one hears what they want to hear, but Bilbo was certain too often the opposite was true. When fear or anger has one on guard, they tend to hear just what they don't want to, the very things that cut the deepest.

So even if his silence could not offer all of his desired support, it also did not offend or further dishearten Fili, and for that Bilbo was willing to overlook its shortfall. The rest of the party seemed content to remain quiet as well, for varied reasons. Some were too miserable, other's too anxious and uneasy, some too restless and impatience, and then Fili, who was not at all sure of his own feelings and yet silent none the less. He couldn't bring himself to speak, couldn't trust himself to keep all of his warring emotions in their proper place if he opened him mouth. So he didn't speak and instead watched the horizon without distraction, his focus fully engaged not with words but the actions of his search.

Yet even his steady eyes could not see what his other sense noticed first.

They could all smell it before they saw it. Before the gray whispers of smoke drifting upwards came into view they could smell it. Before they crested the hilltop that opened up to Gundabad's mouth they could smell it.

A sickening churn of fire and flesh.

It grew stronger as they drew closer, a horrible stench they could nearly taste. Yet as the hilltop fell away and the Company finally peaked the rise above the old fortress to reveal the scene below, they were not ready.

There were very few live flames left, mostly only smolders that still smoked gently. But the fire had left enough to see, to understand, to overwhelm with despair. Bodies. Many of them. The small valley was filled with them, scattered enough to span nearly the entire breath and width of the lowland. Some were piled in a charred mess of limbs, and others lied crumpled alone. Hideous carnage, horrendous stink, and hopeless loss was the heart stopping greeting the Company met, the scene that stilled them all immediately. Every footstep was halted in a single moment, and every breath drawn together in shared shock and horror and silence.

Fili felt his heart fall inside him. He felt it crashing downwards. He felt it hit the ground. He knew immediately, he knew no one lived down there.

 _He wasn't down there. He was not._

The orcs had killed their prisoners, he'd known that. And yet somehow he hadn't expected to see all of the bodies, all of the death before him. Nausea swelled in his stomach when he finally breathed again. He hadn't expected to have to hunt for his brother's body, to prove that it was not there.

 _He was not brought here, he was not among those dead._

Fili's heart lunged desperately, grasping at the hope attempting to escape, fleeing from the sight before him. He clutched at it more fiercely than he had ever had to before as it squirmed in his grasp. His eyes flashed towards the others and he immediately regretted doing so when he beheld their gaunt, ashen faces. They were cowards. They didn't want to move, didn't want to wade into the carnage below them, didn't want to witness the death from any closer. They didn't want to look for Kili, the fear of finding him utterly overwhelming.

Fili too was a coward, possessing the same reservations, the same unwillingness, the same fears, the same pause. But less of one, for he would not stand there endlessly waiting for the ground to shift and a miracle to happen. He could not just wait for Kili to appear before him alive and well. He had to find his brother. But not here, not in this ruin. Fili knew his search for Kili could not end here, not like this. He knew it.

But the Company had to believe…had to be convinced. And so it was Fili that moved first, kicking his pony into motions with a dark stare fixed before him.

"Fili, wait," his uncle stopped him with a hand on his reins before he could get even a few steps. Thorin looked at his nephew for a moment, "There's nothing but death down there."

"I know."

"I just want you to…be prepared…if…" Thorin struggled with a distressed swallow, his eyes wet and shining. He didn't know if what he said was even possible, whether Fili was willing to listen or not. How could one truly prepare themselves for their own undoing? How can one really ready themselves for the very thing that could ripped them apart and utterly wreck them?

He had never done it. Thorin realized then that he had never prepared himself for devastation, even when the opportunity had been laid out before him. He'd had time within Erebor's walls to find firm footing somewhere, a place to weather the coming storm of greed and dragon fire. He had seen it coming. Not in its winged and burning form. But there could be no mistaking the clouds he had watched gather in his grandfather's eyes as surely as if over the Mountain itself. He'd had time to prepare, and yet he had not.

Even before Moria, he'd had all night. All night to put each peg in its proper hole, each thought in its proper place. All nigh to reset his mind and prepare for any outcome. All night to build up reality into a cushion on which he could fall if improbable hopes let him down. But he didn't. Always had he remained as naïve and unprepared as possibility allowed. Each time he had let the fall come when he was at the height of his ignorant fallacy so the drop was further and more painful then needed. And Thorin did not want that for his nephew. He wanted to spare him, a little, if he could.

But Fili would not have it, would not accept the caution being offered. "How can you say that? When you know what you're asking me to prepare for?"

"I do not want…anymore than you…but…" the dwarf king frowned with an unsteady breath, his tone ripe with possible sorrow.

"But is it not clear already Thorin? Haven't you already decided, haven't you already condemned him to death?" Fili accused sharply. He pulled his reins free from his uncle's grasp and again kicking his pony to motion.

"Fili, no," Thorin said strongly as he grabbed his nephew's arm, a look akin to defense in his eyes, "I have not." Fili looked at him. "I have not decided your brother already dead. But I will not let you go down there believing that he could not be…believing it impossible that you will find him."

"I have to," Fili insisted, thought much of the strength had left his voice.

"Laddie," Balin's weak protest came unheard behind him as Fili finally free he and his mount and moving down the hillside.

 **OOO**

Bodies were strange things. The only visible remnants of an entire life and yet the smallest part of who they were. A body once empty can tell nothing of one's character, cannot speak for one's habits or amusements, can't any longer even voice where a lifetime of love and devotion was given. And yet, even a void body could tell a story. Fingerprints of the life once lived in it are left to be found, to tell tales never utter aloud and secrets kept even until death. Scars and wrinkles and cripples and marks reveal a glimpse at the life that had once been.

It was a terrible thing then, that fire licks away these last utterances of life and leaves only black, formless shapes that can't tell any story at all but the ending.

Not all of the remains where charred beyond recognition. A few had been spared from the torches the orcs had carelessly tossed behind them into the wake of their desolation. But even those not scorched were deformed, all of them swollen and bloated with death. The sun had done its work well. And the sight from the midst of it all, from among the dead was an absolutely wrenching one.

Fili didn't know if it or the smell of seared flesh made him nauseous and hardly able to breath. Or perhaps neither. Perhaps his absolute terror and dread as he took each timid step caused his stomach's unease. Maybe his consuming worry and trepidation caused his misery.

The Company was fanned around him, each searching with the same hesitant fears as their young prince. Fili's own steps were careful. Careful not to step on any of the remains, careful not to collapses on his shaking legs. The tremble that shuddered through his body nearly matched the unceasing pounding in his chest. But it was the unfallen tears in his eyes of panic and dread that shook Fili out of his own lies and made him realized just how _afraid_ he truly was. He could keep his resolve unbroken enough in front of the Company to fool them. He could insist upon his unfailing belief and hope so that even Thorin was convinced of their strength. And for a moment he could convince even himself. If Fili pretended enough he could actually believe in his own unyielding faith. He could believe that he believed with all his heart that no irreversible harm had come to his brother. But it was a lie. He could not, no matter how aggressively he tried, keep the fears and doubts from coming. All he could do with tears gathered in his eyes was plead and beg not to find Kili.

Thorin, looking far over to Fili's left, was so focused on his own search that he started when a voice broken open the miserable quiet.

"I think…Fili," Bofur called with an almost stone-like heaviness. Thorin stilled completely, unleashed panic making itself known. For half a second he could not but breathe, and even then with a struggle. Without bidding his legs began to carried him towards the toymaker whose raised voice had so shaken him. He was not the first to reach him, nor the last but Fili had gotten there first. With a sudden and scalding relief Thorin realized he had not just approached his nephew's body, or one at all. It was not a corpse that Bofur had called them to, but something relatively small and balancing in his fingers. He held it up towards Fili to see, the sun catching the mettle blade.

"I think…its yours," the hatted dwarf said with gravity, the confusion not absent from his face.

Fili took it quickly, though he knew before he touched it that it was indeed his own. There was no mistaking something so familiar. Thorin did not miss the tremble in the fingers that held the discovered blade, or the nameless shadow that pasted over its owner's face.

"Lad, is it yours?" Dwalin asked more harshly than he surely intended.

Fili's bowed head shook gently, his hidden eyes burning with misery, "It was his," he whispered so very weakly. He could not see their bewildered gazes, and he could not voice an explanation. He could not _breathe_. They didn't understand. Only he did. Only he understood what it meant.

 _They did bring Kili here. He was here._

An unwelcome grief erupted through him until it reached even his fingertips, a silent shutter for breath searching desperately for both air and a voice of denial. Fili's eyes flashed about him at the ruin, at the death,. And the very last of his hope vanished.

And then he knew. In that moment he knew he was looking at his brother's corpse. Somewhere out there he was staring at Kili's body.

Later, he would not remember the utterance of pain he choked. He would not remember falling, rushing to the ground so hard and so quickly that his knees broke open. He wouldn't remember the tears that flooded his face and dripped from his lips. He wouldn't remember clutching his knife between his left fingers, or feeling his hand cut open without notice as the blade buried into his burned skin. He wouldn't remember covering his mouth with his bloodied hand, desperately tried to silence his grief filled gasps. Nor would he remember his other hand crawling through the dirt and ash in sorrow, searching for an escape he wouldn't find. Or the trembles his body shuddered with until he nearly collapsed. He would only remember the pain, burning like a fire within him. A pain that exploded from his lungs. An ache that grew like a scream inside his heart.

This was the pain they spoke of. The one worse than death.

The Company could only witness with heartache the devastated, crestfallen face of their young friend. They could only watch as anguish ripped the tears violently from his eyes. They could only observe as Fili's heart broke before them.

And theirs broke with him. But none as much as the Mountain King's.

Thorin's outstretch hands stopped before they reached Fili. He could not stopped him from falling. He could not catch and save his nephew's heart any more than he could his own. The dwarf kind was so overwhelmed by sorrow that he stood unmoved in the ashes and felt fire consume all the joy and hope it had left behind before. It descended quickly, spreading wildly into every space still whole. Until nothing was. And nothing would ever be again.

It was others' cries that rattled in his chest, others' cries that sounded in his pounding ear because he could not cry. He could not make the wetness in his eyes fall. He could not make any noise no matter how mournful if was in his mouth. He could only watch them, could only watch his nephew be undone.

Fili felt his life being unraveled, the threads jerked painfully with each of his tears.

 _His Brother. Kili. Gone_.

Soon enough, when the night came and his sorrow tarried he would realize that any one of the charred bodies could hold his brother's face, any one of them could be the hand he'd held on countless occasions. He would realize later, in the moments between gasps that they, the winds, would carry Kili away until he was completely gone. Fili would realize sometime during the night that he had been left with nothing, not even a body to mourn over. Not even a mangled one. Not even one at all.

But for now he wept, and felt his soul being rent apart.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 3 |**

 **-Places Beyond Hope-**

 **Chapter (19)** _ **'Before and After'**_

They camped away from the mountain that night, like they could possibly escape their grief. As if slipping out of view of the ancient fortress would hide them from their sorrow.

It had been Gandalf whose fortitude outweighed his sadness enough to lead them all when they needed led. It had been he who collected the mourning Company and directed them away from Gundabad. It had been he who took them back up over the ridges until they made camp in the flats far enough away not to see the dark shadow of the fortress but at a distance. It had been he who gently commanded them all to action, assigning tasks to the ones sound minded enough even in their grief to perform them. It had been he who had kindly offered guidance to the devastated King under the Mountain, giving him a few words nearing the boarder of wisdom regarding how to stand in strength while facing loss yet again. There was not much he could say that was not already known by the dwarf king who knew death more familiarly than perhaps any should.. But at Thorin's weakest it was a quiet reminder that helped a little. A call to remember that he did indeed already know how too manage his grief. Even as he stood now at his lowest.

And it had been the Gandalf who looked at the only remaining heir of the throne of Durin and had known even he could not help Fili. Even he had nothing of true comfort to say. Even he had to wait and depend on time to do what none of the rest of them could, heal.

When finally all were settled for the night in what little comfort they could find the wizard took his opportunity to at last slip away for a moment of privacy and solitude. There was nothing else he could do, nothing he could afford the group, and no other way to guide them. The only thing left that the night offered was sleep. And even that would not come easily, and then only to some. But with that, there was little he could do.

He desired, nay he needed, a minute not to be looked to or looked at. He could not be a figure to look to if he was weary and spent nor did he want to be looked at by the ones wondering if he too would break. So Gandalf moved outside of the camp and wandered into the dark a little while to where the landscape was a bit less sharp and cold. Where the rocks were more like stones and some of them were covered by a soft layer of moss. To where everything did not look so terrible and hopeless and it was possible to imagine that something other than heartbreak existed. He found that there, in the quiet under the stars and wrapped in the gentle twilight, he could hardly reconcile his troubled heart with the peaceful hush. It did not seem possible that there, even in the calm, his heart could be pounding with such grief.

The Quest for Erebor had been many things. More that he hadn't expected than he had, and yet more that he had expected then most would likely offer him credit. He had known perhaps better than any that it would not be an easy endeavor, nor would they escape without pain. Gandalf had known there would be many failures and troubles to meet along their way. But never had he doubted, not even for a moment, that all would end well. He had been quite confided that when at last their journey was complete and their task finish it would be a clear and decided victory, one that far out shadowed the failures. He had never lost faith in that idea, no matter the trails they had been forced face to face with. Even when it looked like his companions would be run down and devoured by wargs he had remained confident. Even when they had all hung between the sky and the void on the cliff side he had not doubted. Even when he arrived in Laketown to find its shore breathing with the smoke of dragon fire he had not lost faith.

But now…

Now that faith was gone. It did not seem possible. But it was gone. It had to be. Because no outcome left, no matter how favorable, could out shadow the loss that was Kili's death. There was no redemption left in a quest so burdened by grief. There was no truly good ending for a story so sorrowful. There were endings that were not miserable. Endings that were even at times happy. But no good endings, the ones that feel worth it and make one smile at the end of their life when there is nothing left but the memories. No. Now all at once, this Quest would never be worth it.

And that was a responsibility Gandalf knew he must bare for the rest of his existence. It had been his bidding that turned Thorin's eyes to the Mountain once again. His voice urging a quick and sure course of action. It had been him, unknowingly, that sent young Kili to his early death.

Someday, he knew, he would have to ask forgiveness of the ones his mistake had hurt most severely. He would ask the Company's pardon for leading one of their friends to his cruel and undeserved end. He would seek Thorin's grace for convincing him to embark on the journey that would bare his nephew's last footsteps. He would plead to Dis for absolution for coaxing her son from her side into peril the lad would not come to escape. And he would beg Fili to forgive him for letting the unimaginable befall his most beloved little brother.

It was out of these troubled thoughts, out of the heavy quiet of solitude and grief that Gandalf jumped, startled to attention by a stirring in the forest beside him. Scrambling to his feet and drawing his staff to a ready hand, he watched for the intruder to show them self. His wait was not a long one. From the shadows a figure then a face immerged, drawing a breath of surprise from the Grey Wizard. It was a familiar face, and one as unexpected as one could be.

"Radagast," Gandalf gasped, "what on earth are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" the smaller wizard asked with an unconvincing frown. "One would think you are not pleased to see me."

"What foolishness. I can not help my surprise when you crawl out of the forest like a ghost from the trees," Gandalf objected. "But why? What has brought you so far from Mirkwood's boarders and at this time of night?"

"I must tell you sometime. It is important I think. It could not wait," Radagast answered hurriedly.

"How did you know where to find me?" The Grey Wizard asked with puzzlement, his curiosity refusing to be silent.

"The forest, it whispers for those who know how to listen."

Gandalf nodded absently, "Ah, and your ears hear nothing better do they?"

"That's just it, it was the woods that told me something was wrong."

"What did it say? What have you found?" Gandalf asked impatiently.

"I told you the forest was sick, so I've been watching it. I was near the western edges of Mirkwood when I heard of a stirring outside its board. So I went to look and that's when I saw them. Orcs, Gandalf, they're on the move. Many of them. I have often seen a few of the scattered beasts clinging to the mountains as they come and go. But never so many together so far east. They were not hiding or moving in the shadows. It's like they were gathered for something."

Gandalf frowned with unease, "How many were there?"

"I was not close, but with prisoners I would say a few hundred. And Gandalf, they were moving towards Moria."

"The ancient dwarves kingdom?" Gandalf asked with surprise. "Are you certain?"

Radagast glared at his taller companion. "I may be a fool but I'm not a stupid one. I'm sure of their direction. They were headed directly towards the Halls of Durin."

Gandalf nodded slowly as he began a short pace, "I have long worried it was not as quiet as it seemed. We have heard nothing from its walls for so long. But I should have thought when Lady Galadriel…"

Radagast moved closer with interest, "The Lady of the Wood? What has she said?"

"It is what she saw, a darkness, a shadow over Dol Guldur. I think…perhaps evil has come crawling back. I fear the Enemy may not be as defeated as he once was. And it seems Dol Guldur is not its only destination."

"Are you saying Sauron has returned?" Radagast gasped, "How can that be?"

"I know nothing for certain. Only that evil has been pushing further and further around us these days. We can not stand by any longer without knowing, especially if darkness is roaming nearer and taking more. If Sauron has indeed returned and has taken both Dol Guldur and Moria we must know. Radagast," the taller wizard said as he stopped and turned to face his friend, "I need you to do something for me. Will you go to Rivendell and speak to Lady Galadriel and Elrond, tell them what you saw? I would go myself, but I think I should not leave Thorin's Company now."

Radagast did not miss the fall of his old friend's face. "Gandalf, what has happened?"

"Our youngest, Oakenshield's nephew was killed," Gandalf answered with a painful sigh. "Azog still hunts for Thorin. I should not leave them, they are not strong right now."

The brown wizard nodded sadly. "Are you?"

"This is not my first tribulation my friend, you should know. I will be well. We all will be, given time," Gandalf answered.

"Then take time. And do not worry about Rivendell. I will leave now."

"Thank you, Radagast. One could not ask for a better friend." Gandalf smiled at his companion.

"Aye," the brown wizard grinned, "I may be a fool but I am a good one."

A gentle smirk was the last Radagast saw of the Grey Wizard as he disappeared again into the forest as subtly as before. It was a wonder, the way he moved like a phantom in the woods without making nary a sound or distraction. Gandalf wondered in he wasn't more like the woodland deer themselves than those that hunt them. It was true that Radagast certainly made a curious wizard. It was not however, a bad thing. No, it was perhaps one of the very best things to him. Because odd though he may be, there was no argument to be made against his compassion and loyalty. It was his loyalty that had made Gandalf sure his friend would be sent at his bidding before it was asked. Help extended willingly was a stronger cord than most could hope to break.

It was a heartbreaking pity then, that those who need help the most are most often the ones refusing it. Even if they do not reject support with words their cold silence is enough to send away a kind hand.

Gandalf thought of Fili who, when he'd last seen him, was sitting not with his usual strength but a limp slouch away from anyone. A silent chill had set in deep down in his bones and if he let it grow he would freeze so no one could touch him. And Gandalf feared that perhaps he could not help the young prince, could not save him. Because perhaps Fili wanted to freeze. Frozen things can't feel. Cold things go numb.

Numb. Gandalf felt numb himself even now. Like he could not hear or even see quite clearly in his sorrow. He felt like he couldn't think without the fog of a cold breathe blurring his mind. Numb like ice.

…But…not completely. There was something warm, hot, burning. Something trying to break out of the frozen thoughts. He could feel it jabbing in the back of his mind. Like a poker stoking a stubborn ember. Something he should know…something he should care about…something…

A word can make itself known like a loud clap when it's ready, when all the other pieces fall into place. When the fog lifts it's there, so obvious it's a wonder it could have ever been missed at all. Gandalf felt rather than heard the clap of surprise as a single word came rushing back, screaming for all the attention it deserved.

 _Prisoners._

 **OOO**

There are the moments in life when the scale tips. When for a while there is no longer a balance between good and bad. When either happiness or sorrow overwhelms the other. When there is no gray but only complete light or utter darkness. The scale swings up at the very best of times. Fortune and favor meet at once and for a few blissful moments all is well. Misfortune keeps a distance and adversity knows where it cannot tread. Other times it dips low. Hardships and struggles come uninvited all at once and all one can do is grip until their knuckles are white and wait for the weights to right themselves again.

Sometimes the scale tips, one way or the other. And sometimes it drops.

Sometimes, in those moments when one's life is changed forever one side of the scale falls completely, it balance lost in a heartbeat never to be righted again. And in those moments one knows perfect joy or true devastation.

Thorin Oakenshield had known the weightless plummet of devastation before. He knew what it was to feel every resemblances of happiness ripped loose from his heart. He knew how heavily grief sat on broken shoulders. And he knew that mourning was a time of staggering despair and pain. His life was marked more than once by those bright, scarlet markers. The moments that change ones future forever, when nothing will ever be the same again. The bleeding seconds that divide a lifetime into two, the before and the after.

The after is never looked for, never expected, never wanted. The after is a life so marred by pain that it couldn't even be imagined before it arrived cradled in grief's arms and screaming of sorrow. The after is emptier than the before and it aches with a deep mourning for an entire future lost. It's a constant and daily reminder of all the tomorrows that now will never come for the one to whom they should have rightly belonged.

Thorin had faced enough afters to know that each one was different. Each one carried its own heart wrenching struggles, brought its own breathless attacks of sorrow.

And some were worse than others.

This one was the worst. Beyond any uncertainty this one was more painful than any before. This one was more painful than anything ever. It was a good thing, Thorin thought bitterly, that he was stronger than he used to be, strong now then he was when death first set upon his family with a seemingly unquenchable taste. For if he was any weaker he would not be able to survive the weight of this sorrow. It was so heavy.

But then, was it really strength he depended on now to even breathe? Was it truly strength that kept the tremble of grief to his hands only? Was he really stronger than before? Stronger than when his own brother was so cruelly taken from him? He'd been heartbroken, yes. And miserable, more than he'd known he could be. And he'd been angry. His brother's death, his murder, had sparked a fire in Thorin's soul. A smolder that would glow upon Frerin's memory and would burn with vengeance for years, decades to come. It was still burning.

But this time…

Thorin felt weak with grief, his spirit limp and his heart failing in sorrow. This time the stirring of revenge did not exist. Or was too faint to feel warming his wrath to a boil. Perhaps he was not stronger at all but weaker. Maybe he was so broken, so weary of pain that he had no strength to lend the angry part of grief. He was only miserable.

He wasn't sure which was better. To burn with fury and let it distract from the sorrow a bit, or face the pain without the blinding rage adding to the sting of his eyes. Both were capable of wrecking one too weak to bare it. And standing before Mount Gundabad watching his nephew sink to his knees in utter heartache, Thorin had feared that perhaps Fili was just that. For a moment panic had found an opening in his grief and the King under the Mountain had fear his heir had been dealt a blow that was beyond recovery. Only for a moment. And then Thorin realized, even as Fili cried into the dirt and the ash and the blood with all control abandoned, that he would survive his pain. He would heal. Thorin knew Fili could because he had done it himself once.

Fili was stronger than he was. He always had been. The weight of the crown had never burdened him like it had his uncle. Being heir to a throne kept by a dragon's watching eye was hardly the same as waiting for one sat upon by one's kin. Fili had never laid eyes on the kingdom that would one day be called his own except through tears of distracted despair. Until recently he had never set foot on the grounds he would someday rule. But even still, the responsibility that came with his claim to the crown was a great one. With the eyes of an entire people watching Fili had been shaped into a prince, an heir worthy of trust and respect. It was not an easy task, Thorin knew. He had not been able to do the same until every other option was gone, and any other hope abandoned. It wasn't until his grandfather had gone mad that Erebor's people had turned to him with faith and esteem. Before that, while still safe within the kingdom's halls, they had known him only as the elder and more quiet of the young princes. It was not that they doubted his wisdom, yet they believed it second only to his inexperience. But Fili, with ability and grace had proven his character in the simplest of ways. His very nature spoke of strength.

Thorin hoped that now when it was most needed some of that strength would be found within his nephew's reach.

Fili looked so broken. His shoulders bowing in sorrow, his cheeks wet with the tears dripping down his face. He sat far enough from the fire to hide in the shadows it threw out around it. Far enough that he couldn't share it its warmth or the company that basked in it. Fili was everything that was miserable, everything that was hurting.

For hours Thorin had watched him mourn. At times Fili's tears ceased for a while, but they always returned. Now they ran the length of his face without hindrance. For hours Thorin had strained in his nephew's direction, wishing to go to him, to comfort him, and yet in the same beat dreading any encounter as much as he could remember ever dreading anything. How was he to offer solace for a hurt that was inconsolable? How could he begin to ease the pain shredding Fili's heart moment by moment? How could he help when his own heart was bleeding in his own chest? It was a truly impossible task. And yet Thorin knew he must try. He had to try.

"It hurts, I know it does," he said softly as he came to stand beside where his nephew sat. His voice was more strained than he thought it would be, like he was talking around something painful in his throat. But then, he was. A cry had been trapped inside him for hours. With a heavy breath he eased himself down beside his miserable heir.

"And you don't want to hear any lies or any promises. You don't want to be told it won't be like this forever. You just want to weep for him."

"Then let me," Fili said without looking over. It wasn't a whisper but it sounded small, like there was only space enough for his pain and nothing outside it, nothing else at all.

"I also know you won't find comfort in solitude even if it's desired. You think that maybe in the silence you'll be able to hear something other than the scream of grief. You'll be able to think…and feel…and you won't have to answer anyone's watching eyes. You won't have to mourn like they do." Thorin's head shook gently. "But the quiet, it swallows you. All you hear is your grief. The loneliness…it's all that you feel."

Fili did not answer. There was a bitter hurt and a pain so deep inside him being spurred by his uncle's words. He didn't want to hear them. He didn't want to hear anything. He knew, even in his heartbreak, that anything said to him now would be an attempt to alleviate his suffering. But his brother's death was not a pain that could be eased with words. Or at all.

"I know Fili," Thorin promised, wetness shining in his own eyes anew. "I know what it feels like."

"Then you know there is nothing you can say to make it stop." Not for a moment had the unbearable ache waned. Not for a second had it ease at all. Since that instant when his soul had fallen apart Fili had not found even a breath of comfort from his pain. Not a moment of relief.

The dwarf king looked at his nephew with a sad frown. "No, I can not." He wanted to tell Fili that he wished he could. That he would if he were able. If there was any way… any chance…he would do anything. Thorin wanted to tell Fili he was sorry. Sorry for the pain. Sorry for his own mistakes that helped create it. Sorry because under his fingernails Kili's blood was still drying. It was on his hands, impart if not mostly. And he was sorry for it. So very sorry.

But Fili didn't want or need his amends now. His sorrow would not be lessened by his uncle's admission. Thorin knew his efforts to ease his own guilt would do nothing for Fili. Not now. So he would hold to his remorse for a bit longer. He would keep it to himself until it would be received by willing ears. For now he would let it eat at him and him alone.

"I can't escape it either," Thorin choked as he reached to his nephew, his fingers resting on the back of the younger dwarf's neck. "You do not hurt alone, Fili. You are not alone."

"I have never been alone until now… without him..." Fili's body flinched with a quiet cry. Gone. Thorin had asked him where his brother was when he arrived at Erebor wrecked and alone. _'Gone'_ was the answer that had been uttered at the time. But even then Kili hadn't been gone, not yet, not like now. Now the word resounded with bitter permanence. Now there was no future beyond it. Now it was true. And it was the most heart wrenching thought Fili had ever known. An entire life without Kili seemed absolutely impossible. And yet the idea of it was so miserable, so lonely, so _wrong_. It was not right that life could simply go on without his little brother in it. It was not right that _his_ life could go on alone, without Kili. It had always been an unimaginable thing.

"You have so many that love you Fili. So many that loved him also to bare this with you. Do not forget that now."

Fili's head wagged slowly. "I can't…he was my brother. We were…he and I…" He gasped for air as his cries became more violent again. "My mother, she is still one. You are still an uncle. I…now I'm nothing." How could one go so quickly from being something to wonderful to being nothing at all? How could one's value and purpose be stripped away so suddenly? How could one be recast into a role of solitude when all they had ever know was company? How was he to stop being what he had always been? How could he not be a big brother anymore? Fili struggled to swallow these disorienting, unbelievable thoughts away as he was overwhelmed by grief again. It seized his entire being, ached in every space. Like the vise had twisted once more.

Thorin felt his heart struck by Fili's confession and the bare agony behind his words. He yearned so desperately to give his nephew a little comfort, any at all.

"It will take time, but you will come to see that you are wrong. There is so much you still have, so much you still are, Fili. Do not make promises to yourself now in your grief that you will regret. Do not decided all joy is lost to you and happiness will never be yours. Do not decide that your life is over too or it will be. I know what it is like…how easy it is to collapse and stop fighting. I know how tempting it is to…to just fall. But you're strong,"

"Maybe I used to be," Fili whispered weakly, his shattered heart bleeding through his tears, "but I don't think so now. I don't care."

Thorin looked at his nephew. He looked at the youth that had always been so joyful, so optimistic. He'd always been the steady Fili, the unmovable Fili. The one that was bold enough to stand at his heart's bidding even if it meant he stood with no one else. The prince who gave a displaced people promise in a future they could only hope for. The heir that shouldered every responsibility and met every sacrifice as if he was born to do it. The brother that had never faltered in the role he most loved and valued.

He was crushed. He was mulled by grief and rent by sorrow so that now he was something he had never been before. He was beyond repair. In that moment, suddenly Thorin realized that Fili would never be the same. Of course not, Kili was gone. Of course Fili could not be how he was. Thorin had known that. But still…somehow some part of him had thought…hoped… But no, there was no repairing the broken Fili before him into what he used to be. Now he had to rebuild him.

"Fili, try to take comfort in knowing Kili is in joy and peace. There is no more sorrow or suffering for him. His fight is all over now."

Fili nodded, "My fight has begun." And what a much longer fight it would be. What a much harder fight it would be. The Mountain King knew that losing a siblings was an endless and painful battle. As was losing a child, a nephew, much too young to die.

"We will survive it Fili. You may not believe it now, but this will not kill you."

"Maybe not," Fili agreed with a soft sob, "but something in me has died."


	20. Chapter 20

**In addition to posting this chapter, I also corrected an error reguarding the location mentioned in Gandalf and Radagast's conversation in the last chapter. So be sure to recheck that part of the previous posting! Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Heirs of What**

 **| Part 3 |**

 **-Places Beyond Hope-**

 **Chapter (20)** _ **'Sorrow's Footsteps'**_

He woke with flames in his eyes, the light bending with grief and sorrow. Tears streaming down his soul. A cry lifting from his heart of loss that shook the core of his very being. He felt shredded inside, aching under his skin and throbbing in his bones. He was bleeding out, slowly, one tear at a time. Most of them were only the ghosts of tears, physically absent but more real than the moisture that would sometimes drop down his cheeks. It _hurt_. And he felt very much like he was dying.

Yet no one could see the pain churning inside him. They couldn't see the extent of his torment. Couldn't see how quickly darkness had settled inside him. All that could be seen by anyone watching was his pale form sitting up, his blue eyes blinking past his agony, and his unsteady stance as he rose to his feet. They could only tell for certain that he'd gotten little sleep and even less rest. They could only see that he wore the heaviness of his grief in every feature.

Willing his tight muscles to work, Fili made his way to his water and took a long drink, the liquid wetting his begging throat. He wasn't sure when he had last drank, or when he had even last thought about it. It felt so incredibly long since he'd had anything else on his mind but his brother. And now, though it had only died a day ago, even the spark of hope he had nurtured so attentively seemed so distant, like an entire lifetime had woven itself into being since then.

Fili felt the Company's eyes on him as he moved, restless gazes watching to see how incapable his sorrow had made him. He could feel them, unpleasant stares despite their innocent intent. And Fili knew he couldn't stay there where he could not escape even the reminder that he was broken and near collapse. So he stepped past Balin's sad gaze, and Gloin's kind one, and Ori's troubled one, and Thorin's heavy one, and Bilbo's worried one, away from them all until he was free from their judgments even the ones made without notice. And when he was alone, outside of the woods and in the tall, brown grass he stood under the sun with his fingers clinched and quaked with sorrow.

A naked pain, a raw, cruel ache pounded in his chest and Fili wondered how long it could beat so heavily before it busted. An unguarded grief swelled in his lungs making them burn with a trapped cry. A mixture of rage and despair laced its hand with his fingers, dragging his heart down tortured paths while his body stood there and shook.

Kili, his brother. His kid brother. Dead. Kili who sang to the stars and grinned with the sunshine and laughed in the rain. Who stood without flinching in the light and only faced his fears in the dark where he thought there was only himself to see. Who would just as soon dance in the night as fight in the day. Whose happy spirit traveled in the wind and slept safe in the earth. Who embraced the good fiercely and who tried his best to change the bad. Who found joy in every place. Kili who loved life and every second of it. He was gone.

Fili swallowed a gasp of air as his eyes pinched shut in grief. So many years…so many memories… His whole life, his entire existence had been shaped and molded by his little brother's hand in his own. Whose calls would bid him now? Whose footsteps would he follow to his purpose now? Whose hand would reach to him now for help, for comfort, for strength?

A happy voice, a ceaseless laugh bellowed over the brown grasses and a familiar comfort brushed against Fili's heart. Followed by a new throb. That sound was nothing but a memory now. A smile, as welcomed as not, flickered against his closed eyelids, Kili's grin beaming for a moment before him. Fili stumbled to the ground, his legs folded under him. Any such visions were merely an apparition now. His brother was not and would never be there.

He'd been uprooted, he knew that. His feet were no long tethered to the ground he used to walk. Those paths were always treaded by two, never alone. His new course was a lonely one. And in that moment Fili felt very much like he would be blown along this new way like a fragile gale thrown where grief would take him. He was a hollow and bawling torment chasing peace he wouldn't find. Where was comfort in his brother's murder?

He felt a depthless void, a placeless ache inside his chest. He hurt with a pain that seemed unreal, unfathomable. The uninterrupted sunlight that covered his face did nothing to warm the chill in his beaten soul. The ebb and flow of disbelief and unimaginable sorrow was constant. The hateful truth receding just enough to shock Fili when the miserable reality returned again. And the dwarf prince sat there in the silence and mourned for his brother. He mourned for his loss. His lamentation roaring in his heart. His suffering overwhelming and complete.

"Fili?"

He turned to see Dwalin standing behind him near enough to notice his trembling shoulders should he look closely. If he was meant to answer Fili ignored the expectation, managing only to look up at his older friend with glassy eyes.

"Lad-"

"Please, Dwalin. I can't listen a second time to void speeches," Fili pleased, a panicked desperation in his voice. He could not calm the grief in him now. He could not calm the pain. He couldn't even try.

Dwalin frowned at him with confusion.

"Thorin," the younger dwarf explained simply.

The warmaster chuckled weakly, "Thorin is a dwarf of few words and I of even fewer. You need not fear my lectures. My brother though, well, you are fortunate they didn't send Balin in my stead," he paused, the little humor he spoke with leaving his eyes again. "I came only to tell you we are leaving."

Fili had no reason to be surprised, no reason not to expect such a message. Yet, somehow he was bothered. "Thorin is eager to return to the Mountain?" he asked with a strain of bitterness on his tongue.

"He is eager to leave this place behind," the older dwarf corrected gently. "Aren't you lad?" He could see the sharp pain in Fili's eyes, could hear it in his voice. And though he had no place to pass judgment on feelings he himself possessed, Dwalin wondered how to ease the bite in Fili's heart. He knew what it could do to one so kind and so young.

Fili looked away from the question, his eyes carried back towards the shadow of Gundabad. In his gaze he threw grief and anger and something else in the direction of the mountain.

"He died there," he said quietly, his shrug beckoning towards the ancient fortress. "His…he lies there, somewhere…And I don't think I will every be back here again."

Dwalin slowly nodded. He understood. There was no body to take with them. Nothing to place in the tomb. Nothing to whisper goodbye to. No flesh to touch once more. No last look upon the beloved face. There was only this, this place where he breathed his last. And for Fili, this was a sort of burial. This was where he would be forced to leave the body, where he would turn away and never again have anything of his brother but his memories.

"I understand," Dwalin told him gently. "After Moria, we lost so many. I searched the battlegrounds for…until I could hardly stand, hoping to find some…any. My brother had to pull me away from the field."

"You were looking for survivors," Fili objected. This was not the same madness or grief.

"Aye, that's what I said. But the truth is I wasn't looking I was lost. I couldn't imagine turning away and leaving…all of them. I didn't even know how to begin to move on." The warmaster's voice did not waver, but his speech came slowly, forced, as stubborn as he was.

"You had your brother to help you."

Dwalin agreed with a nod even as he spoke again, "We lost our father that day, Balin and I. And our father's brother. And our cousin. And so many others. The few of us that were left had to hold to each other yet tighter. If we had scattered we could not have survived."

The meaning and purpose of his words were understood, though not accepted.

"If we had held together Kili might never have been taken. It's too late for that to make it right now," Fili said.

"Not right, but better Fili."

The dwarf prince didn't voice any agreement but Dwalin didn't press the idea. He waited in silence as Fili slowly rose to his feet. The older dwarf watching quietly as the younger looked once more at the inglorious gravesite of his little brother. And the aged warmaster remained hushed as Fili turned away from the fortress again and followed him back to the rest of the Company.

 **OOO**

The journey back through Mirkwood was for the first time uneventful. No spiders, no elves, and no poisoned, swelling waters slowed the Company's travel this pass through the forest. Though any one of them would have chosen any of their previous obstructions without hesitation if they could forgo the grief that instead smothered them. For the first time they brought with them something stronger than any charms or curses the woods crept with. Their sorrow, while much newer than Mirkwood's enchantments, was potent. It pierced the heavy haze of bewitchment that had perturbed them before, leaving their senses sharp and their minds clear. Too clear. Most would have voluntarily rendered a bit of their sanity if it meant the grief would dull for a while. Instead they were left to trek the paths of a forest too dark and too eerie without a distraction from their sorrow.

As they traveled in silence, Fili was not the only one to wonder whether his brother's rescue would have been possible if their last passage through the dark forest had been different. Had fate spared them capture and more time given them would it have been enough? Would it had changed things? Would it have saved Kili? Bitter anger burned within him at the thought, remorse and misery calling out his condemnation. He was angry at the elves for their selfish distrust, and more angry at whatever destiny chose to rob him of his brother and hand him such pain. He wanted to destroy destiny as surely as it had destroyed him. He wanted to burn it from wherever it sat in the skies and watch it fall. But all he could do was mourn.

His agony would boil and settle, calming only to be stirred again at the slightest prompt. Each time a noise close enough to something familiar sounded, something that reminded him of Kili, Fili flinched as surely as if he'd been struck while fresh sorrow poked at his heart. He never forgot his pain or the reason for it, but every few minutes he was reminded just how great his loss was, just how deep his hurt ran. It was excruciating beyond what he had imagined anything could be. Unendurable and yet ever persisting. He was surely being every second tortured there before the rest of his party.

Thorin could only watch through miserable eyes as his heir was bowed lower every moment under the presence of his grief, the king's own sorrow second to only one if not none at all. Each mile they walked was a shared struggle, each hour that passed a challenge. And as hours turned to day and the miles stretched long and many behind them it did not get better. By the time they had long put Mirkwood's edge behind them and were nearing the Long Lake the King under the Mountain could only look at the looming view of his Mountain and see the losses. As the sun rose in fiery hues behind it throwing glowing, red shadows up it's entire height, all he could see was the blood that had spilled because of the wealth it stored in its depths. Washed in the crimson mist of dawn, Erebor looked very much like it was painted, and Thorin could imagine with an overwhelming sorrow and remorse, that the blood red handprints of all who had perished for its cause adorned the Mountain from its sturdy base to its lonely peak. One after the next they stained the kingdom. So many of his people, of his kin, of his family.

And now Kili's.

That hand, once so small and pudgy that would reach up to him, tiny fingers straining, its owner's little face grinning at him. That hand, that would brush the dirt from its owner's clothes as he came rushing inside from his play. That hand, that would knock an arrow and loose the sting in so steady a manner that its owner's skill was certainly unmatched. That hand, that had held a part of his heart since the day its owner's first breaths were drawn. Now its ruby pattern marked Erebor's walls as the newest and brightest print of all.

A hesitant part of Thorin wondered if when they reached his ancestral home, when the sunlight turned yellow and warm, whether there would be any comfort there. Whether a little peace and rest would be possible. If there he would find privacy to heal.

The other part of him already knew it would not be. There was no peace in a comfortless ache. And while the body may always work to heal itself, the heart was not so resilient. The soul had its limits and Thorin believed he had reached his.

By the time they made it to the heart of the Long Lake, Thorin was sure no place, no shelter, no home could offer rest from his pain. And yet, as they took a respite in Lake Town and trudged along its still ashy beaches to find somewhere dry to camp, Thorin was not able to fully dread their return to Erebor. Because at least there was something good there among all the bad, be it only very distant memories. And at least it could protect them. Perhaps it could protect them from anymore misery beyond comprehension.

Or at least give them somewhere they could go mad with grief away from the world's eyes should more misery come…

They build a fire that night in the sand away from the ruins of Lake Town. It cut a striking figure of destitution in the sky behind them, but they faced the water instead, intent on keeping their backs to the place where so much pain was began. They had just settled for the night, nearly ready to retire when they were intruded upon by the sound of movement and approaching light.

"Who invades these shores in the night?" a voice demanded, though the speaker's torchlight had not yet revealed his face.

"Who wishes to know?" Gandalf asked as his eyes narrowed in the dark, his voice holding more authority than a trespasser's perhaps should.

The intruder finally drew near enough to see and Bard stepped forwards with a group of men at his back. They filled the small area of beach lit by their torches.

"Gandalf? So you have returned," Bard observed. If he was surprised he hid it well. "And your quest…?" He asked as he tried to count faces in the dark. The silence that rang across the beach was the only answer needed for the bowman to draw a sad conclusion.

"I…I am sorry."

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed, unwilling to speak of their loss any more for fear of agitating an already painful wound. He could not bare it anymore than the rest. "We are only camping the night. We'll be departing come morning."

"Are you returning to the Mountain?" Bard questioned.

"Yes, Erebor need not sit empty any longer. The dragon may be slain," the wizard said with a pointed look, "but there is still much to be done to restore the kingdom."

"But you know plenty of that," Thorin's voice lifted from the dwarves' silence as he stepped nearer the taller man. "Your people have much to restore."

"Yes," Bard agreed as he turned towards the dwarf king. "Yet our efforts in Dale have been effective. We have only returned here to find whatever can be salvaged from the ruin to take back there," he said with a gesture at the men standing next to him. "We saw company upon the shore and came to see if it be friendly or otherwise. I'm glad to find allies and not foes this time."

"Ones that have not forgotten their agreements," Thorin promised after a pause. "I am sure the folks of Lake Town are in need of much. When you return to Dale come to the Mountain and you will receive your payment."

Bard nodded his head in gratitude. "You are right, our families are without their homes and many comforts. Even still, our losses could have been much greater. Your hospitality is appreciated and your aid welcomed."

It was not lost to Thorin that hospitable was hardly the standing he had shown the people of Lake Town when the choice had first been his, and fair payment was hardly generous aid. But if Bard was willing to overlook his transgressions Thorin was glad to accept his grace and thanks.

"I will return the favor, if ever I am able. If ever there is a time when you require something I can provide I will not overlook your need," Bard promised, drawing surprise and confusion both to the dwarf king's face. "Your nephew protected and saved my children at the cost of his own life it would seem. I can not repay that," the bowman explained.

Thorin felt a tightness in his crest that made it decisively hard to breath. It hadn't occurred to him that by helping to protect the rest of his party Kili could have left himself vulnerably. It hadn't occurred to Thorin that Kili's fate had come by any hand but his when he abandon his nephew in Lake Town.

"No more than I can repay your people for the destruction I brought here," he said.

"Perhaps then, newer and stronger ties can be made on these shores now. Perhaps trespasses and debts can be forgotten in favor of truer relations…perhaps friendship," Bard said, watching carefully for Thorin's answer.

"Indeed," the King under the Mountain agreed. "Friends serve much better than enemies."

 **OOO**

Bilbo's feet put the last few miles of a terribly long journey behind him as they neared the Lonely Mountain the next day. He was weary of traveling and grieving both. And he was glad at least that one of his exhaustions would be eased by their return to Erebor. Yet he feared the other may by increased by the very same. There was a steady pace to travel, even slow travel, that kept the mind busy. A little. No more journeying left even less to keep the sorrow away. He'd only seen the kingdom briefly but the empty spaces, the quiet, the shadows all seemed a welcoming place for heartache.

He had been dealt more heartache on the Quest then he had ever thought to imagine. When he left the shire his fears had center on the wellbeing of only one, himself. He had been so preoccupied by his own vulnerabilities and inabilities that he hadn't considered any one of his companions' safety. He hadn't realized it was in need of consideration. Because if he did not die then sure they would not. If he, hardly a warrior or physical champion of any sort, could survive the journey than surely they all would as well. It was only after the Company's first few shoulder brushes with death that Bilbo noticed his companions' mortality for what it was. He finally understood, perhaps after more time than it should have taken, that they could indeed fall and leave him standing behind. Much of it had to do with their lack of caution, a trail he, on the other hand, had in abundance and utilizes almost always. But also their courage, he realized, moved them into harm's way nearly more often than his nerves could stand.

Even after he finally realized his fellow Company members could die while he yet lived, Bilbo still did not know at first the impact this loss would leave on his heart. It was only after they had shared smiles with him, and stories, and laughs, and even their fears that he began to feel the ties knotting together. It was only after they became his friends that he realized he would mourn their loss deeply and feel their absence acutely. And it was then, somewhere between the Shire and Rivendale that Bilbo realized he had signed himself up for potential heartache when he wrote his name on that contract.

And he had gotten it.

He missed Bag End and he missed the quiet comfort he'd known there. He missed the time before the fears and worries and sorrows he knew now. In Hobbiton he had lived in a peace untouched by the foul hands that groped most of the lands. Shadows and evils did not reach into the green hills of the Shire where Bilbo had built a safe home and lived a content life. He missed the warmth of those nights seated before his fireplace in his armchair before pain had the chance to grab him. He missed not hurting.

And yet…

If he could do it over…if he could relive the moment he signed away his comfort and peace…if he could change the choices he had made…he would not. He would not undo the things he had done. He would not take back the decisions he had made. He would not replace the past months for anything. Because hurt, even deep hurt, was made worth it by friendships truer than any he had known his whole life. Because knowing a friend for even a short while was better than never knowing him at all. And because the pain of his loss was overshadowed by his memory. Bilbo knew his grief now only meant his bond with young Kili had been something of great value.

And for that he was grateful. Not all could boast of fortune enough to have what he had found on this Quest, something far more precious and prized than wealth.

But Bilbo was not sure if the others could possibly feel the same. For they had all lost more and gain less than he had. For him, even in his sorrow he had something to be thankful for. But they, perhaps, couldn't say the same. They had won back their Mountain, yes, and all the treasures beneath it. But other than pale riches they had only gained his friendship. And while Bilbo believed he had proven a trusted and true friend, he was hardly worth the loss of family. There was very little chance that any of the rest of the Company could look at all they has amassed since their journey's beginning and deem it worth while. Which was why Bilbo was sure that as they approached Erebor once again Fili was utterly miserable at its sight.

He was not mistaken.

Fili could only look up at Erebor's towering heights with dread and disgust. When he had first arrived at the Kingdom he'd been wrecked with worry and fear. Now he was crushed with sorrow and loss. And that was much worse.

It felt like an unreal dream separated the first time he entered Erebor and now, him standing in the dying field before it again. Their travel back from Gundabad had taken much longer, nearly twice as long. There had been no rush and no reason to. Grief had a way of slowing everything to an agonizing pace. He had spent most of the journey grieving for all he had lost. But there were times his mind had wandered back to the Kingdom before him. What would he have there now? Fili realized as he paused for a moment with the rest of his party to breathe and look upon their destination, that he had never once taken the time to consider Erebor his home. In the chaos of their Quest he had never replaced the small, cozy home he'd known in the Blue Mountains with the Lonely Mountain standing before him. He hadn't yet called Erebor home, hadn't yet claimed it as such.

And know he knew he never would. His home could not be a place Kili had never known. Or at least not one his joy had never known. Now Erebor would always be the lonely shadows bought with his brother's blood. A terribly unfair exchange.

Fili wonder if when the Kingdom's people were first driven from its walls, if during their exodus as they turned their backs to Erebor and fled, could they have known all the pain that day would cause? All the lives it would cost for years to come. Its exiled people where slaughtered in great number. Many of its homeless folks were scattered and starved. Only a precious few survive.

And then they had come back for more.

They should have known…Fili wished he had only known…He had won a kingdom and lost a brother. Such a cruel trade, he thought with hateful bitterness. They had been heirs of all of this, together. And now he was a lone inherent and of what? What had cost Kili his life? What was he truly an heir of? Ash and ruin…and death?

* * *

 **I hope you liked this chapter! I know there wasn't a lot of action, but they did make the entire journey back. Now that they've returned to Erebor you'll see more happening. I promise this story will not just be an uneventful tale of mourning. There are many events yet to take place and many serects still to come ;) Please let my know what you thought!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 3 |**

 **-Places Beyond Hope-**

 **Chapter (21)** _ **'When Hurt finds a Home'**_

" _Don't move so quickly, you'll lose sight and focus," Thorin called loudly._

" _You don't fight slow uncle, I've watched you," Kili objected as he stopped and walked closer, his youthful face baring a look of frustration. "I don't understand why I can't without missing my steps."_

 _Thorin smiled at his nephew. "You will, have a little patience and allow yourself a little practice. I have been wielding arms since I was younger than you."_

" _You just have to give it a little time lad," Dwalin intervened. "Even I stumbled a few times a first."_

" _I just," Kili frowned, "I'll just be glad when these mistakes are behind me."_

" _You should have seen your brother when he started. There were times he looked like a newborn deer out there," Dwalin laughed. "You remember Thorin?"_

" _Yes," Thorin grinned. "He was nearly as clumsy as you were."_

" _Look who you speak of," Dwalin balked. "If I was bad I'm not sure what that made you."_

" _Did Fili really have trouble too? At first?" Kili interrupted the dispute he knew would come without intervention._

" _Indeed, he fell more than I think he would care to admit," his uncle answered._

" _Are you talking about me? Filling my own brother's head with lies about my lack of skill?" Fili complained as he walked up, his brow dripping with sweat from his own work._

" _They're only lies if they aren't true," Dwalin laughed._

" _Exactly. I was a natural, you even told me so."_

" _One that still needed a good deal of training. At the rate he's going, your brother is likely to best you soon enough," Dwalin poked at the younger dwarf's pride._

" _We'll see about that," Fili grinned as he picked up a weapon and met Kili in the field. "Good luck little brother."  
_

" _Save it," Kili countered with a challenging smile, "I have enough." With that the two of them threw themselves into their duel, lost to anything but each other._

" _They make quite a pair you know," Dwalin told Thorin with a sideways glance, only taking his eyes off the two younger dwarves for a moment. "I think they will prove valuable indeed."_

 _Thorin looked from his friend back to his nephews. "You speak as though we'll be marching to war on the morrow. They may be skilled but I don't think they're going to need it. Not like you and I needed it."_

" _Perhaps, but is a fight ever looked for?" Dwalin challenged. "I think they're fortunate to have each other if a battle does come their way."  
_

 _Thorin was quiet for a moment. "And what if they fall, Dwalin?" he finally asked quietly, a deep terror rising from where it had hid for years._

" _Then let us hope they fall together," his friend answered._

 _Thorin shook his head gently, the thought of losing the two young dwarves he loved so dearly unthinkable._

 _"And let us hope we're not here to see it," Dwalin added quietly._

Thorin flinched up from the slouched manner in which he occupied his chair. His eyes opened but the dream of a memory didn't vanish with the darkness. It lingered in his head even after the deep breaths he cleansed his lungs with, voices still rattling in his head. The conversations from a time in the past echoed remembrance and Thorin could scarcely breathe as distant whispers burned inside him.

He remembered that day, one of Kili's first days of weapons practice. It was not so very long ago, and now…it was too soon, much too soon. That day was not nearly distant enough. Kili had been given so little time. He'd only barely grown up. He'd hardly had a chance to live his life at all. Every opportunity and every future robbed from hands so young they'd never even learned they needed to hold on so tightly.

Thorin choked back his grief as he rose from his seat, opening his stiff limps in a stretch. He'd found his way to this old room in the night when he was unable to sleep. Blinking passed his blurry eyes, he neared the flames that were actively dying in the hearth. The small room he occupied was one of the few mostly untouched by the dragon. He'd been surprised to find everything as he remembered, everything unmoved. It had been a council room, a small one reserved for the meeting of kin. Unlike the grand hall where large councils were held that housed a long table and little else, this one had no table but a few seats and a fireplace. It was a comfortable and intimate place that curiously reminded Thorin of Bilbo's Bag End.

He remembered gathering there often with his father and the King and a few others, some that had long ago disappeared. A few of them had been killed, others chased away by fear and uncertainly. But before that, when Erebor still knew peace and housed dwarves, they all used to talk there for hours about many things, some foul but most more pleasant. And he used to come there alone on similar nights when sleep did a sound job of avoiding him. He remembered sitting before the hearth and watching the fire, letting the flames burn away his worries. It was one of the only places they would be forgotten, this place an old sanctuary for him.

There was a time Thorin had deemed gems that most valuable thing under the Mountain. Not even so very long ago. His eyes had seen only their enchanted glow. His heart had yearned desperately for them. His had been a jealous greed for their sole possessorship.

He'd been a fool. A blind one and he hadn't seen what he never should have missed.

Fili and Kili were the most prized gems he would ever have the chance to value. They were, the both of them, jewels meant to be kept safe. They were the treasure he should have risking life and future for. There was nothing more, nothing greater that should have stolen his attention. There was not a more important purpose to his life than to protect the few left that he loved.

And he had failed. But not because an enemy was more than he could face. Only because of his own selfishness.

There was nothing that could right that wrong. And Thorin knew he would never outlive his guilt. If not for his greed Kili would still be alive. He'd seen young die before. And he'd seen good murdered by cruel hands. But these were Kili's bright eyes shut forever. This was Kili's merry laugh silenced. And Thorin could not reconcile such a happy life with such a painful end. How could a light so bright be darkness so suddenly? It had never even flickered before.

And it was in that thought that lied Thorin's disbelief. There was always something so sure about Kili, something so sure about his joy, about his spirit, about his love of life that made his presence shout. It was always there, so much so, in ample supply. And it always had to be there.

Or Thorin had thought so.

He wondered now if he had ever really believed Kili could die. He had feared it, as much as he was sure any could fear for another. But had he ever actually thought it possible? Had he ever really feared a world without either of his nephews? He thought he did of course. But now he believed perhaps he never really had at all.

Because he wasn't supposed to be there. If that day ever did come when they fell, he wasn't supposed to see it. He wasn't supposed to live beyond his nephews.

" _I won't be," he told Dwalin, his gaze still fixed on his dueling heirs._

" _You're so certain?"_

" _I've watched too many fall. I won't…I can't see any more. If those two ever did…if either of them…well I would die first."_

" _I would die to protect them too, Thorin. You know that," Dwalin said._

 _Thorin nodded. "I've faced much my friend," he spoke with a deep breath. "But I can't bury them."_

 **OOO**

Erebor was very much like a maze to those that didn't know the web of corridors that tunneled through and under the Mountain. Bilbo still had not learned his way but for a few common places he frequented and the limited passages he had learned when last he was there. He had, for that reason, mostly stayed with another when going hither. He'd found it curious that even those that were as new to the Mountain as he still moved about as if they knew where they were going. They had far less trouble navigating the kingdom's halls than he did though he'd been trying his best to learn his way. It seemed that the dwarves sense of direction within the earth certainly exceeded theirs above it. And where they perhaps could rely on instinct to guide them below surface, hobbits were not so naturally inclined. They much preferred sunny hillsides and meadow paths and cozy burrows with plenty of windows.

But despite his unfamiliarity with Erebor, Bilbo did not find it whole unwelcoming as he wandered through its halls, alone this time. It was indeed scorched and damaged. There was much broken, cracked, and crumbled. And there was little of the luxuries or comforts Bilbo knew in his own home. Yet there was something timeless about this kingdom. It was not an old realm compared to its ancient neighbors. But if any kingdom was enduring, Erebor was certainly that. And while it did not necessarily feel peaceful, it no longer felt pledged by bewitchment like his last stay. Bilbo no longer fear that his companions were walking a line between sanity and madness, teetering towards madness. And he didn't fear that they would come to be. Dragon sickness was no longer a curse he believed any of the Company would fall to.

It was a painful misfortune that it was too late.

If not for sickness perhaps there would have be one more there to celebrate the kingdom they had fought to reclaim. Perhaps they could actually enjoy the object of all their efforts. But instead a different heaviness weighed upon all of their shoulders. Now something else had taken the place of madness. And while maybe more pure than a delirious love of riches, grief hardly felt less cursed. It was painful, and Bilbo hadn't realized he could miss one he's know for so short a time so much. He knew if Kili were there with them the halls would echo with the laughter they were now deprived. He knew if Kili were walking there with him even now it would not be sad quiet presiding over his stroll.

But instead of laughing, Bilbo only heard the mumble of voices as he wandered upon a doorway.

"You disappeared last night," Balin's voice came from the small room. " I nearly came to find you, but I thought perhaps you wished to be alone."

Bilbo was standing so that be could peak into the room but without being seen himself. He knew he should keep walking and let others' conversations stay theirs. And yet he did not keep walking. Instead he lingered where he could hear and not be seen.

"Do you really think you could find me in a realm so large?" Thorin asked, his mouth twitching.

"Aye," Balin nodded. "The old council room has long been a favorite of yours."

Thorin's raised brow told Balin that he'd guess correctly.

Bilbo could see Gloin sitting next to the white haired dwarf, and Dwalin standing near the back of the room. Bilbo had never been told in any great length the relationships and ties of the Company members, but he had gather enough during the journey to place a few of the dwarves in Thorin's past to a time even before he was driven from Erebor. All four of the present members and Gloin's absent brother had known each other when they still living within those very walls.

"Do you remember the last time we met there?" the dwarf king asked. "You were all there with me that night."

"Yes," Gloin answered, "seems so long ago now."

"We should have done something, like we spoke of that night," Dwalin said, his voice low.

"Nothing would have saved us from the dragon, cousin," Gloin answered. "We couldn't have known it would come just a few days later."

"No," Balin agreed, "but maybe what followed could have been different. If we had done something about the King, about the sickness, before Smaug came perhaps there would not have been so much death after.

"If we had thought of a solution that night we would have. We could all see the King changing, but what were we to do? Gloin reasoned.

Thorin nodded absently, he thoughts divided between the present and memories from that night so long ago before ruin fell upon them. He'd seen it coming. So he'd gather his closest confidants, his father and his friends, because he could see the wild flash in his grandfather's eyes when he looked at his treasure. He'd seen the madness growing and he'd wanted to do…something. To find a way to help, to stop it.

"You are right Gloin. But perhaps we should have tried harder. If we'd only known what was coming…"

"Looking back only makes the shadows seem darker," Balin spoke. "Let's not dwell on them now."

"And what of recent shadows? What about Lake Town? Do I pretend I never caused such pain?" Thorin asked heavily, his eyes sorrowful.

"You can not take responsibility for the acts of a dragon, Thorin." Balin told him firmly. "You did not burn the Town."

"I set a beast upon it."

"We all did," Dwalin moved closer to the rest of the group as he spoke. "And our Quest was not without support either. Even Gandalf encouraged us to retake this Mountain."

Thorin grunted "And where is he now that it is done?"

Gandalf had left Erebor, departing nearly as soon as they had arrived. His reasons were vague, as they always were, speaking of urgent efforts in need of his attention. He'd promised to return as soon as he was able. But that meant little to the Company who knew the Grey Wizard's wanderings took him far and kept him long. There was no particular reason that he should stay either, they knew. Their task was finish as completely as he could aid them. There was really nothing to keep Gandalf there. And yet, they had still wished for his presence, still hoped he would linger a while longer. But as was his habit, the wizard's coming and goings were not to be predicted.

"He likely wished to be gone by the time she arrives," Dwalin said with only a hint of humor. The joke was half hearted and died away into silence.

"She should be on her way by now," Gloin stated.

Who? Bilbo wondered as he still stood quietly outside the doorway listening to things he wasn't meant to.

"She'll be getting close if she's had any luck greater than ours. I sent the raven the eve before we departed for Gundabad," Thorin said.

There was a heavy pause, one which made Bilbo fidget with discomfort as he inched closer in anticipation.

"Does she know?" Dwalin finally asked quietly.

Oh, Bilbo thought sadly. Their mother.

Thorin drew a heavy breath before answering, "She knows he was taken, and she knows I swore to do all in my power to recover him. But my sister is no fool. She'll know there's a chance…"

"Perhaps that is best, for to travel all this way with belief in success only to find out otherwise would be unbearable," Balin reasoned gently.

"And yet to grieve alone cannot be better," Thorin said. "Perhaps it is best that she doesn't know either way for certain. Maybe it is good that neither her joy nor sorrow is complete now."

"She will find comfort in knowing he fought to protect others, including Fili. My brother said he was doing his part to defend them though he was still weak. A brave lab his mother can be proud of," Gloin said.

"Yes, Bard said Kili protected his children too," Balin added with a sad frown, the old dwarf struggling to keep his sorrow from overwhelming him.

Thorin only nodded, unable to disagree that Kili was indeed brave and worthy of more honor than he'd been shown, and yet still unable to agree that there was any peace in his nephew's death. What good was bravery when the heart that carried is was now stilled?

"When is the bargeman due to arrive?" Dwalin asked, diverting to a less tender topic.

"Any time," Thorin was able to answer around his grief. "He returned to Dale two days ago."

"Do you think you'll have any trouble? Do you think he'll reason fairly?" Gloin wondered.

"I think there's little he could ask for that would be too great. But I do not think he'll ask for more than is right. About payment," the dwarf king paused as he turned towards the doorway, "Bilbo, you have yet to claim yours."

The hobbit swallowed in surprise at being discovered, not having realized he'd inching his way into view of the room's occupants.

"I…" he stammered, "I wasn't trying to…what I meant is-"

"It is alright master hobbit," Thorin promised. "If we had wished for more privacy we could have easily gone where we would not be discovered. This realm is extensive."

Bilbo's lips twitched with a smile as he slowly entered the room, no longer seeing reason in lurking in the doorway.

"You know you have earned your share of the treasure many times over by now. It is yours to take when you wish. I am not in a hurry to see you gone, but I know we have no right to keep you from your armchairs for any longer," the Mountain King told him.

Bilbo nodded as he rocked back on his heels. "Yes, well," he answered, "I thought I would at least stay until after Kili's, uh…the burial." The word was only ceremonial of course. There was nothing to bury. "Besides, Gandalf promised to travel back with me, so I guess I'll wait until he returns."

Dwalin huffed. "The dependability of wizards," he shook his head.

"Thorin," a new voice, that of Bofur's as he poked his head in the doorway spoke, "he's here. Well they both are, actually."

"Both?" Bilbo wondered as he looked around the room with puzzlement.

"King Thranduil has come also to collect his due," Balin answered with a sigh of apprehension.

"Let us get this finished quickly," Thorin said as he led the way out of the chamber.

 **OOO**

Bard decided he was glad he ruled a people rather than a kingdom. People had hearts and lives to deal with, but kingdoms had memories, shadows, and ghosts. Just standing within Erebor he could feel the weight of the past and the pressure of the future trapped by the stone walls. It was unsettling, and far more of a burden than he wished to carry, even if the rewards could be considered worth it by some.

By the time Thorin entered the hall to which the bargeman had been brought the man was already waiting patiently though not entirely comfortably. He had heard tales of this Mountain, stories of splendor and wealth, recounts of prosperity and plenty. He'd also heard whispering in the shadows about ancient curses and madness. And he'd heard warnings from old lips, cautions against even approaching Erebor for fear of evoking whatever form of evil dwelled within.

So it was with a degree of apprehension that Bard had made his way to the kingdom. It was with a little uncertainly that he allowed himself to be led by Oin to a large and fairly undamaged hall where he waited for the Dwarf King to join him. Thorin arrived with a few others of his Company shortly. He offered a nod of recognition as he approached, extending respect rather than the pride in which he had first addressed Bard some time ago. He saw immediately that Thranduil had not yet joined them, and was not entirely disappointed.

"We finally meet on less queer terms," Bard observed, noting not only their most resent encounter in the dark on the shore of Lake Town, but their first meeting also alongside the river near Mirkwood. "We neither have reason to distrust the other this time. I hope," He added.

"That remains to be seen," Dwalin interjected. "A fair agreement has not yet been reached."

"I only wish, as I'm sure you all do, for a just arrangement," Bard insisted.

Before Dwalin or any other could respond Thorin spoke, "Yes, we too desire an honest and quick accord.

"Good, then-"

"Thorin," Dori interrupted to gain the dwarf's attention as he approached, the Elvenking of Mirkwood following at his back.

Bard had come alone to secure his payment. Thranduil, on the other hand, had not.

Half a dozen elves came with him, all escorted by the remaining members of Thorin's Company including his absent looking nephew. Fili followed at a distance and then stood to the side, his mind not present and his emotions far from engaged.

"It has been many years since I've visited this realm," Thranduil said as he glanced about him, forgoing any greeting. "And longer still since I've come on good terms."

Thorin recognized the Elvenking's remark as a slight to his grandfather immediately, whether intended or not. Anger poked at the back of his gut, a rebuke at the back of his throat. But reason kept them from being called forth. The ill terms under which Erebor and Mirkwood had interacted had been created by his own grandfather, Thorin knew. He had seen the King's arrogance strain the already weak relations between the two kingdoms. Thranduil's words, while needless and provoking, were not untrue.

"I trust this time will prove different," the Elvenking added, making his intentions clear. He no more wished for conflict than Thorin, though his ability to avoid it was lacking.

"That depends on the present company," Thorin finally spoke.

"And those are the words of a friend?" Thranduil said with a smirk, remembering Thorin's parting words at their last encounter even when Thorin himself had nearly forgotten.

"A cautious one," the dwarf king stated.

Bilbo watched this exchange with little curiosity. The elves, he'd learned, or particularly Thranduil, lacked empathy and tolerance. Both of which Thorin lack in as well. It seemed their opinions of each other was faulted not because of their differences, but rather their similarities.

"Indeed," Thranduil conceded with a nod. "And with cause, it would seem. I have come to know of your loss. And were loss abides distrust tends to settle."

"If you let it," Bard interjected with a frown. "Loss does not have to make one's heart hard."

Thranduil stared at the man for a moment. "Master Bard, is it a knowing tongue you speak with, or just a wise one?"

"Perhaps both," Thorin spoke again. "I do not wish to conduct this exchange with mistrust. Or any future ones. It has not severed this kingdom well before."

"I too wish to put past affairs where they belong. I have no interest in maintaining ill terms with you as I did your grandfather. Proven you can deal fairly," Thranduil agreed. "And am I to understand that you have come to extract compensation as well?" he asked as he turned back to the bargemen. "Dare I hope we can all reach an arrangement that is without petty disputes this time?"

"I believe Thorin is right, that depends."

"On?" the Elvenking asked.

"How far we can all put our selfishness behind us. There is no reason we can not strengthen relations this day, not tear them further apart."

"As for my part," Thorin said, growing weary of maintaining his show of interest and strength when his heart felt as far away as Fili's appeared to be, "I have your gems, Thranduil. But what, exactly, do you ask for?" he addressed Bard as Balin retrieved the elf's white gems and presented them to him.

"Your promise was for compensation for our Town. I do not have to tell you of the destruction that was brought. You know of its extent. And yet you know better than I the value of your riches. So I ask what price you would offer?"

Thorin looked at the bargeman with no little surprise. "You would trust payment to be set by the same who was reluctant to first offer it?" he asked with on small amount of shame.

"I would like to believe I neighbor a just king. Give me no reason to doubt that and I will not," Bard answered, his voice dropping to a more sober one. "And as I told you, your nephew has already given me more than I can repay. I ask for more now only for my people."

"Losing Kili does not change what is rightfully yours-"

"Stop saying that," Fili suddenly spoke, looking up from his down cast gaze where he had been staring at the ground seemingly in deep thoughts of his own. He met all their faces with a wide eyed look of realization and anger, as if he had just discovered something painful.

"You all speak as though he were really only lost, as if he could be found. My brother is not lost. He was killed, murder," Fili cried in a voice shaking with grief. "He's dead," he added in a whisper that sounded much weaker and more broken than his precious roar. "Kili isn't coming back." The truth of what he had said fell on him as if pain itself had been released and allowed to descend upon him. And the words felt raw and painful in his mouth. Unrefined from lack of use. On unsteady feet Fili turned towards the door to flee this place were they spoke of his brother's death like it was an unfortunate thing rather than a life shattering one.

"Prince Fili wait," Bard stopped him. "I brought this," he said as he retrieved a bundle that had sat unnoticed nearby.

"Are those Kili's?" Fili asked suddenly, recognition dawning on him.

"Yes, I found them in what remains of my house."

They were Kili's clothes, his outer garments that had been rent from his feverish form as they were trying to cool his body. They'd been discarded on the floor of the bargeman's home, forgotten, until now.

"I thought you'd want them."

Fili only nodded in silence as he approached to accept the outstretched bundle, his finders trembling slightly as he did so. He knew immediately, as soon as he held them, that aside from being dirty Kili's clothes where undamaged, whole, so unlike their owner. They still smelled like Kili, like earth and wind and the cape jasmine that grew at the foot of the Blue Mountains. They were tainted by the scent of smoke too now. But his brother's remembrance still lingered in the fabric and Fili felt his heartbeat wane as a shaft of grief dove itself unto his soul.

"Thank you," he whispered without realizing it has he gripped his brother's clothes in his fingers and his eyes shined with tears.

* * *

 **For those of you who really enjoy dialogue, here you are! I hope you all liked this chapter, and I would really appreciate it if you let me know! As you should be starting to see, there are still many things in store for this story, and many unanswered questions (like Gandalf's whereabouts for example). So I hope you can all have patience and enjoy the story as it unfolds :) Thanks for reading and have a blessed day!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 3 |**

 **\- Places Beyond Hope -**

 **Chapter (22)** _ **'No Good in Goodbye'**_

Thranduil had send their weapons. He had gathered them from where they'd been discarded after the Company's capture, untouched after their escape. Spurred by a generous inkling, perhaps due to finally regaining his White Gems and without as much protest as he estimated, the Elvenking had returned the dwarves' weapons to them in an act of good favor. He had no purpose with them, and not enough resentment at present to keep them from their owners.

When they had arrived at Erebor's gates in an undistinguishable bundle all the Company had gathered around with a curious anticipation, wondering what Thranduil could, or rather would be sending them. Bofur had pulled the ties loose, revealing the content within. As glad recognition drew upon them, their eyes all sought out their weapons, their hands all reaching eagerly for their own.

Almost all.

Fili's eyes fell instantly on one item, his stare so fixed it drew his companions' attention. They all looked at the focus of his gaze. Oh. Kili's bow.

It laid tangled with the rest, half buried by Bombur's cleaver knife and Nori's mace, shown no more significance than any other. But it was different. Because there was no hand to reach for it, no callused figures that matched the shape of the weapon they held. There was no one to claim this most beloved item like the rest. And the sight of it both shattered Fili and overwhelmed him with sentiment. He reached for it slowly, drawing it out of the pile with unsteady hands. He left the number of gold handled blades that bore his crest lying where they were with he and Kili's swords buried untouched in the heap. His brother's bow meant more for it had meant most to Kili. It was made as well as the rest of their other weapons, crafted to last much longer than its owner had used it. Yet the wood was worn where Kili had held it. It was faded where his fingers had gripped it. And Fili felt his throat burn with emotion as he held what had last been touch so fondly by his brother. When this bow had been taken by the elves and Kili had protested with curses of bitter annoyance and resentment, they had neither one known it was the last he would ever see it, that he would not live to touch it even once more.

Under a sudden assault of fresh grief, Fili's fingers closed firmly around the limb of the bow, his hand gripping so tightly that his arm trembled. He felt his loss, a hateful hunger in his soul, so intensely, so fiercely that is silenced all else. He could scarcely stand. He could scarcely breathe. And his pain, as overwhelming as it proved, was not to be eased. Hours later, when night had fallen and what little noise that emanated within Erebor had silenced, Fili had still not found escape from his misery. He had fled from his companions' sleeping company to where he was alone and not surrounded by others whose hearts were not nearly so shattered. The night was a fitting time to grieve.

The stars, he noticed, were brighter in the cold. Brilliant glints in a chilled sky. They looked brightest still in the earliest hours of the morning when there was nothing but darkness demanding the horizon. Fili could still see them even when he closed his eyes in slow, heavy blinks. He was tired, yet he could not sleep. His could not find rest, could not find comfort anywhere within the Mountain. Each time his body bowed to his weariness he would wake before he truly fell asleep, horrors invading his mind and vexing his heart. The tortures were more painful than the exhaustion.

Perhaps that's why he'd chosen to come to the front gate where his perch on the broken stone was ridged enough to keep sleep at bay. Sat on the crumbled ruins of the entrance, he leaned against its frame as much inside the entryway as outside it. The wind was still able to invade the kingdom through the opening in Erebor's defense, but the stones shielded him enough to keep him from freezing beyond reason. Instead the cold air reached him only enough to chill him thoroughly. Fili could feel it trespass through his clothes and over his skin, could feel it burn his lungs. And there, in the fresh, freezing air he felt more awake and a little less numb. Seeing his own cold breath made him feel just a little more alive. So it was here he'd sat for hours relieved to be, in part, free from the confines of the Mountain. Though not as free from its occupants.

"If you're waiting to welcome the winter, I don't believe you have long to wait," Balin said as he approached, the old dwarf shivering in the night air.

Fili extended his friend a glance, but did not answer.

"When I noticed you'd disappeared I thought I might find you here," Balin continued, not bothered by Fili's silence. "I lived here for many years before Smaug. And yet to be back, well it's strange being under the Mountain again. It can feel a little confining at times. And if I'm right, it is far stranger for you who's never known anything but space."

Still Fili didn't speak, not certain why Balin had come to find him but sure he was to learn whether he wished to or not.

"You and your uncle share many things, stubbornness perhaps first among them. I may know Thorin well enough to know when he doesn't desire company. But I also know you well enough to know when you need it."

"And if I don't want it?" Fili said quietly as he looked away again, back to a sky far clearer than the mess inside him.

"Do you not?" Balin questioned with a raised brow. "Grief alone is poor company."

"So am I."

"It is a good thing then that I am stubborn and will not be easily chased away."

"Why are you here, Balin?" Fili finally asked as his head bowed. "What could you have to say that could ease this hurt? You can not even understand," his voice weakened as he spoke. "You have not lost your brother."

"No," Balin agreed, "but if you think I have not known loss, haven't known hurt, if you think I do no feel this now you could not be more mistaken." The old dwarf's eyes shined with tears that spoke for that very pain inside his chest. "I know what it is to feel your heart break Fili."

Fili looked up, his own eyes wet and so pained Balin felt his soul ache. "But you don't known the responsibility…the guilt. You weren't there to save him. You didn't fail him," Fili choked on his words, a gasp of grief rushing from his lungs. Since that night on the water in Lake Town when he tried to save Kili and didn't, Fili had felt a seething and overwhelming guilt burn inside him. It was not always violent and loud, didn't always thrash about his soul. At times excuses reasoned away the forceful attacks of guilt, leaving only a quiet, more faint trace of the feeling. But it was still there. Always there.

Balin stared at his young friend for a moment and shook his head. "Do you not realize how much your brother loved you?"

The dwarf prince looked at Balin uncertainly. "I know he-"

"If you do then you know this is not what he would want for you. He knew how much you loved him. He knew you would never give anything less than your own life to save his if you could. He loved you too Fili, and he would not allow you to blame anyone but the orcs for what happened to him. You can not believe this is truly your doing?"

"No," Fili shook his head. "I didn't cause it. But…" he struggled to keep his words steady, "I didn't stop it."

"Could you?"

Once again Fili looked at his older companion with confusion.

"Could you stop it from happening? Didn't you try?"

Of course he had. Fili had told himself that much. But then, what was effort fallen short of success? Not enough. Trying was not enough when failure meant death. What did an attempt matter if it could not be achieved? He had realized, even when he desperately wished not to, that attempt was only a glorified word for failure. It did not change what he couldn't do. It didn't change the fact that Kili was still taken from him.

"That doesn't-" Fili objected.

"Yes, it does lad," Balin interrupted with a nodded of his head. "There was nothing more you could have done."

The younger dwarf looked down again trying to blink the tears from his eyes and swallow the guilt from his throat that made it difficult to breathe. "That's not how it feels," he whispered.

"If I have learned anything, it's that hurt doesn't leave on its own. It will stay for as long as we allow it. We must choose to let it go Fili. Not right away. You will grieve yes, you must. But someday, you must let go of the guilt. You can not keep it. We all must go on with the lives we have been given."

"What if I can't?"

"Lad-"

"I can't just go on, like he never was. I can't just forget all the years we should have had. I can't…"

"Nor would you be expected too, by anyone." Balin answered gently. "But no life has ever gone exactly as it was planned. That does not mean it is not still lived."

"He should have gotten to live his life, Balin. He deserved to. Why was I spared and given the life he was denied? This is one I never wanted to live. Not without him."

"His was a joyous one. He knew more happiness than most ever get the chance to. And nothing can change that, nothing can take that away. There is no question that Kili always lived."

But he wasn't now.

Fili knew better than any the depth of life his little brother lived. He had been on the receiving end of more of Kili's bright smiles and joyous laughs than any other. He had shared in Kili's love and his light nearly every day of the younger dwarf's life. He knew what it meant to be close to happiness, embodied in a grinning, dark haired archer that repelled sorrow like he was born for nothing else. Yes, Fili knew better than any what he had lost.

"It hurts," he shook his head weakly, "and I don't have the strength to bare it alone."

"You are not alone," Balin's words echoed those of Thorin's from the night after they reached Gundabad. They sounded as empty now as the first time Fili heard them.

"But it feels like it," Fili's voice rose with his grief. " It feels like I am alone in a world of inescapable darkness and now Kili is not here with me, to help me. There is a hole, a gaping wound in my chest. I will never be whole again. I will never see him again."

Those words, they gutted him right then and there. Never had Fili said anything that was more painful.

"It is a rare thing to have what the two of you shared. What precious memories you have to hold to. Use them, remember them," Balin told him softly. "We all sought gold and a kingdom, but Kili only ever sought joy. His came with yours. He would want to see you happy again, someday."

"How can I when he has taken so much with him? He…he is a part of me…and now part of me is dead."

"Your brother believed happiness was a choice."

"But he is not here is he? He is not here to make that choice. It was stolen from him."

Pain and bitter anger were not so different when grief was the thread stitching them together. Balin has see pain crumble away into rage before. He'd seen it chase away any chance at happiness. He'd also seen it break spirits before, ripping strength from weak hearts. He knew in the end grief had only one outlet, the search for peace. Its path was often littered with bitterness and brokenness, and still it needed to be walked.

"Peace is only found by those that seek it Fili. Seek it."

"I don't know how."

Balin's hand fell upon the dwarf prince's shoulder in a show of support, his voice pained as he spoke, "You will have to say goodbye."

 **O O O**

Gandalf had always been a wanderer, a lone pilgrim, a vagabond. Most of his travel had been done in solitude. He had roamed for so many years that even he was not certain for how long he had drifted. The Grey Wizard was by no means a stranger to seclusion. And he had never minded it. There was a peace to be found in the company of oneself and serenity in the quiet lull of the wilderness.

It was strange then, that after so long being content with his habit of wandering Gandalf found himself a bit displeased by it now. It wasn't the travel that bothered him, but the solitude. He hadn't realized during his months with Thorin's Company how much he had come to enjoy their presence. That is until it was absent and he was once more faced with a lone errand. Prior to the quest for Erebor Gandalf was certain he wouldn't have been bothered by this task even if it took him through forests darker than he enjoyed and the nights had grown colder than he wished. But now, he felt the lack of companionship in a way he never had before. He rather wished the Company were with him, though it couldn't be. This was one more mission he had to do alone.

It had taken him longer than it should have to realized this errand was absolutely necessary. His conversation with Radagast had rested heavy in his thoughts, yet it was days before he noticed he had let sit a most urgent notion. All at once he had been stirred to reason and realization struck him hard. If the orcs were gathering at Moria then they were not merely convening. They were organizing. They were forming an army. Gandalf had suddenly known then that he had to find the truth, had to know whether their enemies were magnifying themselves against them. But the Company was only a few days from Erebor and the shelter they so desperately needed. So the Grey Wizard had stayed with them until they were safe within the Mountain even if heartbroken. Then he had left.

South he had travel from the Lonely Mountain to where the Old Forest River divided Mirkwood. Once more through the forest he'd gone West where it opened to the grasslands laying before the Misty Mountains. Southwest then it was towards his destination. The travel was tiresome and as with every evening he was glad now to be stopped for the night, this time in a rather pleasant area near Gladden Fields.

With his pipe as his only comfort and his days long, Gandalf had nearly let the smell of his tobacco soothe him to sleep when he was stirred by the break of silence as someone approached. They were not loud, but they were not shy in their advance either. Only a moment later a tall figure caught the light of the fire and is was long blond hair that Gandalf noticed first.

"Hello prince Legolas," he greeted the elf.

"Gandalf?" Legolas gazed at him curiously, "I did not look to find you here. Are you alone?" he questioned as he searched about him.

"Yes, the dwarves are back at the Mountain."

"All of them?" the elf prince asked hopefully. He had wondered since he'd left them with new of the orc's heading whether they were able to recovered Kili. Wondered if he did not have to say goodbye to one he called a friend.

"No," Gandalf shook his head sadly. "We were too late for young Kili."

Legolas's head bowed in disappointment and his blood flushed hot, angered by the fate of one so undeserving by ones so cruel.

"I had hoped my report would be enough to help…"

"As did I," the wizard agreed with a pained frown. He had been told of the elf's aid by a grateful Thorin. But it had not been enough and neither had the well wishes of an ally prevented the young dwarf's end. Gandalf knew responsibility had been for those who had wrestled so desperately for it. The ones that had dropped everything and made Kili's rescue their only purpose. They were the ones that had failed.

"May I ask where it is you are going now?" Legolas asked.

"Moria," Gandalf said, displeased by how unpleasant the idea still sounded.

"For what purpose?"

"I have reason to believe the Gundabad orcs have moved on to there. If I am right, I must make haste to Rivendell and tell Lord Elrond." He chose to keep his other motive to himself: To see if perhaps there still lived some thought dead.

"I just came from there," Legolas said. "My father wanted me to speak to Lord Elrond about the spiders coming down from the North. He thinks they will not just invade our lands but soon the surrounding ones as well."

Gandalf nodded his approval, "I did not know Thranduil cared for matters beyond his borders."

"He cares for the ones that may threaten what is within them," the elf prince corrected.

"I think he is right," Gandalf continued. "I too believe the spiders are only a small part of the evil creeping upon us. That is why I must know what threats we are facing."

The elf prince only considered for a moment in silence before offering his assistance, "I will come with you."

"I would not begrudge your company, but do you think that is wise?" Gandalf asked with a brow raised in caution.

Legolas looked at him with an undecided mix of hurt and offence.

"I know the orcs of Gundabad killed your mother," the wizard explained. "And I know that even with all of your ability it is not wise to let anger or vengeance decide your course."

"Not vengeance. The will to protect," Legolas corrected. He had not been old enough to protect his own mother, barely old enough to remember her. Still the rage had burned, deep and without need for provocation. He did not need taught to hate his mother's murders. But he was no fool. He knew his anger was nothing next to his people. There was no choice between protecting them and his hatred. If one could be achieved with the aid of the other though, he did not object.

"If the orcs are at Moria, we will not be able to confront them, not now. We are too few. Will you be able to temper your anger enough to think with reason?" Gandalf asked

"I can control my hatred, if that's what you're asking. It will not blind me."

"And your grief?" the wizard asked softy, knowing even grief that was no longer new could still be a more powerful motive than any other.

The elf felt slightly exposed under Gandalf's sage eyes, but no less sure of himself. "Yes. I am not ready to sacrifice my life without purpose. Or yours."

"Good," Gandalf nodded, "then let us rest now. Moria will not be a welcoming place."

 **O O O**

The battlements of Erebor were no longer whole, but they were not destroyed. Much of them still stood with lost stretches dividing the walkways. But the parts that remained were stable Fili discovered as thoughtless steps carried him out onto them. A few hours after Balin had left him and still without sleep, he'd found his way to the upper ramparts of the kingdom just as dawn was breaking. Casting wary eyes on the glow quickly swallowing the darkness, he drew a hearty breath of the morning air as he attempted to anchor himself to anything beyond his heartbreak. Tightening his fingers around the small object in his fist, Fili felt his palm ache more than it should, the hand still tender from the flames that had bit it some weeks ago.

He had left the front gate and returned to the only objects in the Mountain in which he found a source of both hurt and comfort. Fili had again picked up Kili's items, his clothes and his weapons…the only physical parts of his brother he had left. They all bared Kili's memory, all bared his handprints. And Fili could not stop his fingers from feeling them in search of one last touch of his little brother. Until he found it in the pocket of the archer's coat.

A stone with runes etched into its surface.

Fili had recovered it from the fabric of his brother's clothes only to feel the sudden urge to recoil at its sight. There was something so hateful, so despairing in the weight of it in his palm even now. It was not like Kili's clothes that still smelled like they always had. His clothes that had been made with patience and care and had family pride stitched into their cuffs.

And it certainly wasn't like Kili's weapons. They were a part of who he was. Every arrow he loosed flew with it his dedication, his determination, and his passion. Each one reflected every hour he spent on the training field, working tirelessly to be as near faultless as he could. Kili did not often strive for perfection. He most often preferred chance and his own impulsive habits. He liked letting life meet his open arms, without worry for plans or too much thought. He found more joy in letting his life be uncertain. But his bow was different. He's wished to be a skilled as practice and effort could make. He had desired to show all those around him that he was worthy of serious notice when it was necessary. He wanted those he loved to know with certainty that should the need arise, they could surely rely on him. And he had wished to prove to himself that he was capable for holding his own in battle and protecting those he cared about against their enemies.

Every time his hand wrapped around the smoothed wood of his weapon he became the deliberate and thoughtful part of himself. The part otherwise left hidden behind an irresistible humor that could not be disliked by any. This bow had always been Kili's promise to his family that he could be what they needed, that he would put aside his laughs and stand for what he should when he needed to.

And Fili could never part with something his brother had so loved. Something that was more than just what it could do. Something that reflected Kili's identity as much as his smile and laugh always had. Always would.

This rune stone was not the same. It was a promise. A broken promise. One that would rip at his heart every chance it had. One that would pull unstoppable tears to his eyes any time that it was remembered. One that would knock the air from his lungs at a sudden moment, the memory dripping with fresh sorrow. One that would overwhelm him with pain and grief every time he saw it. For the words permanently written into it were a constant echo of his heart's deepest cry. A silent voice speaking the only wish he had ever begged for with his sobs. _Return to me_.

Kili had promised. He had promised their mother he would return, alive and well. He had promised not to leave them. Now this cursed stone was nothing but a broken promise reminding Fili that words, no matter with how much sincerity and desire they were spoken, could never protect his brother's life. This broken promise his brother had carried with him, this stone, was nothing but a painful reminder that Kili would not, would never, return to his family.

That thought was despairing and overwhelming and heartbreaking in a single breath. The raw grief pressed Fili to his knees upon the edge of the battlement. With tearful eyes he looked up into a cloudless sky, a blush glow of the rising sun. And words, whispers that hardly sounded like his own came from his mouth, rushing from his heart with no place else to go.

"Please," he whispered for none to hear in a voice barely stronger than his breath. "Please forgive me brother. Forgive me for letting you be taken. Forgive me for any pain you have suffered because of my failure. And please, if I can only plead forgiveness for one misdeed, let it be this. If ever I have caused you to doubt my love for you , if ever I have spoken and made you question your place in my heart, if ever I have done something to make you feel alone or forsaken, if ever I have caused you to mistaken my protection as annoyance, if ever I have lead you to believe you were not wanted, I can only beg your forgiveness. There was never a time I didn't love you. And even now, as I hurt, I would choose it again. Because I would not trade the years I got with you, the time we had for anything in this world or another. Please Kili, I hope that you knew, you knew just how much I loved you."

The first tear fell, warm on his skin and ice to his heart. The rest followed, clinging to his lower lashes before slipping down his cheek, disappearing in his golden beard. And he wept, not in anger, or bitterness, or contempt, or with vengeance burning in his eyes. He wept, for the first time in nothing but sadness, sadness for a loss without measure. A loss so complete that his soul grieved and his heart cried. He wept for a loss so deep that the empty space in him ached, shuttering with his heartbroken sobs. A loss that tore at every bit of life in him. He had lost his little brother.

"Please," he whispered again, this time to the rose gold sky, or the raven flying through it, or the soft breeze pulling his hair, or the cold, solid stone under his knees and the ground beneath it, or anything that could listen, "give me the strength to keep going," he begged into the quiet that adsorbed his broken plead. "For him."

He stretched his shaking arm before him, unfolding his hand towards the open sky. Tears still flooded his face as he let the rune stone escaped his fingers.

" _Farewell brother,"_ the words stopped in his throat before he could speak them. He'd come to say goodbye. He'd come to let his little brother go. But he could not. He could not forced himself to whisper those words that opposed everything he had every known. It was not in him. Still the stone dropped, tumbling down towards the ground, bouncing with a dull echo against the rock wall as it fell. Then there was silence. His brother was gone. And still, he could not say goodbye.

As he sat there broken and trembling in grief, it seemed he was never meant to be spared the loss of his family's line. He was never able to escape the trails that cursed their blood. He had always thought he was safe from its touch. For he had not put his joy in gold and riches like those before him. He believed his heart was protected when he burying it in the only treasure he thought he would always have. His family. Surely those treasures could not be so easily stolen. He had always believed it was safe divided between those he loved. But he had not been spared any grief. When he gave a dangerous portion of his heart to his brother, perhaps he should have known. The line of Durin was never spared. He was never able to escape the sorrow. Only his sorrow, he was certain, was greater than them all. His was a blow so crippling, he would never rise again. His was a wound so deep it would ache always, unable to heal. His was losing Kili.

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far. I really appreaciate every single one! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and what you think might happen next :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 3 |**

 **\- Places Beyond Hope -**

 **Chapter (23)** _ **'In the Place Where Torches Burn'**_

Kili was dead. They killed him. He bled to death under their blades or burned to death in their flames or was beaten to death by their hands. Kili was dead. And if Fili was silent for too long he could hear them. The sounds of Kili's grave being dug. Not the stone tomb that would bare a too still and too cold likeness of his baby brother. But the grave that would hold everything Kili ever was. When Fili listened into the silence he could hear nothing. There was none of the laughter that only accompanied Kili's brightest smile. No cry of impulsive rage. No bored and irritated groan. No teasing. No jokes. They were all being taken from him, gathered together and collected into their crypt. A grave of lost hopes and broken promises sealed with a grief that screamed its sudden loneliness.

And Fili could not bare the sound of the silence. He could not stand the noises of his brother's phantom tomb being built one tear at a time.

No matter where he fled to he could not escape them. Even when he climbed to the highest battlement and let the wind roar in his ears and the cold burn his face, still he could hear the heartbreaking sounds echoing inside him. There wasn't a moment when Fili could forget his pain. Because Kili was dead. Because the sound of his brother's death never stopped echoing. Because with each empty moment he was being buried.

Never before in his life had he thought about burying Kili. The idea had never crossed his mind. He had never considered the possibility that he could outlive his brother. He had never envisioned a day when he would have to walk away from Kili's grave and leave every part of him they shared there is the dirt. They shared so much. So many elements of himself had been knotted with who Kili was. The two of them together had become two parts of one shared identity. Now so much was missing and Fili felt very much like his brother's grave was being dug out of his own heart, leaving little but emptiness behind.

Perhaps that's why Fili had allowed himself to wander to one of the rooms he'd hear Bofur whisper about, one the of toymaker's newly discovered favorites. It could easily be likened to a tavern, or an alehouse if the building had only one room. It was located at the north end of a large banquet hall, a smaller lounge for some to escape to when they wished to forgo all activities offered at a feast but the drinking.

There were still warm embers in the hearth and Fili knew the room had been occupied by a number of the Company members not terribly long ago. But it was late enough now that he believed he would not be disturbed. The coals took little tempting to coax back to flames and within minutes the place was warm and lit. Fili could easily see why the others had taken a liking to this particular room. There was plenty of ale and seats to accommodate a hearty company, and comfort enough to satisfy a seeking heart. More than that though, it felt unlike the rest of the Mountain Kingdom. This room was not all space and shadows and drafts of stale, lonely air. This place felt much more like the taverns they'd left back in Ered Luin. Back home.

Fili took for himself a mug of ale, which had been the very reason for his visit to this chamber. Yet it remained untouched in his hands for some time as he sat there and struggled to simply hold himself together. His fingers wanted to shake, his eyes wanted to cry. He missed his home. He missed his life there. He missed his brother. His grief, he'd found, was not a single isolated attack. It had many angles, many footholds. He heart did not only ache for all the years with Kili that were robbed from him. Or for the lifetime they would never get to spend together. It didn't ache only for the future he would never have. But also for now. For each day. He missed Kili already. Already he missed his joke, his support, and his love. A future without his brother was unimaginable, and the thought of it was enough to break him. But the present without his sibling was miserable, and the reality of if crushed him. Both together cast a shadow so dark Fili couldn't see an escape from his pain. There were few places he knew to even look.

His mug was one.

He wondered what it would feel like. To forget. Not his brother, no. He could never forget that Kili used to be his shadow, no matter what he tried. Fili wondered what it would feel like to forget the pain. The grief. The sorrow. The guilt. The utter hurt throbbing inside of him. He finally took a deep drink of his ale. It bit his throat as it slide down. Would he feel lighter if he forgot? Would the weight pressing on his lungs ease? He took another swallow. Would the incredible feeling of loss go away? The liquid in the mug got lower. Would the dead silence that roared inside him finally leave? Would the ache in his whole body fade? He finished the mug and filled it again.

Something somewhere told him that he shouldn't let himself forget. It was selfish and weak. He should feel the pain. It was only right, only fitting. He lost his brother. It should hurt, a lot. He should let it. He could hear a scolding from somewhere telling him that drowning away the pain was a cowardly thing to do. It was hiding from a grief he shouldn't hide from. A voice, maybe his own sober one, said it was also a betrayal to drink his hurt away. A betrayal to Kili and his strength. If is was the other way around Kili would be strong enough to face the pain without hiding. Fili wished it was the other way around. But is wasn't and he wanted to forget. Just for one night. If he was strong like Kili he would grit his teeth and take each wave of pain as they came But he wasn't. So he took another drink.

He was wrong though. The ale didn't help. The more he drank the more powerful every feeling became. The more drunk he got the more he wished the liquid would drown away his senses. The more desperate he became for relief the more rage he felt swelling inside him. A cheated rage endorsed by nothing but his grief. And he sat there, hands trembling, eyes wet, clarity abandoned remembering back to the time in the boat with dragon fire raining upon them. The time they fought for their lives on the rocking waters. The time that was not so long ago, but felt like an eternity. Fili sat there remembering the last moment they were together. The very last moment he was with his brother.

"Fili?" he heard a low voice behind him. He did not need to turn around to know his uncle stood behind him.

"Is there no place I can be alone in this entire Mountain?" Fili asked bitterly "No place someone will not find me?"

Thorin sighed wearily. "I was not looking to find you, truly. I didn't know you were here."

"And still you're here."

"I…I wanted to…" Thorin spoke but did not finish.

"If you've come to swallow the pain away, it doesn't work." Fili said.

"I know."

It was then that Fili was reminded of his uncle's own tragedies. He had lost his brother too. Frerin had died. Of all the Company members who tried to encourage him, to comfort him, only Thorin could speak from a dark place of experience. He was the only one who could possibly know what it felt like. His words alone were not so empty, for they weighed heavily with old grieves. Thorin truly did know what the loss of a sibling felt like. He was proof of the bleeding heart it left behind. And even if perhaps it was not the same, for Fili knew nothing could feel the way Kili's loss did, it was far closer than anything anyone else could offer.

And still, somehow, his words rang empty.

"In time you'll stop drinking to forget anyway," the dwarf king spoke so heavily he all but muttered.

"Do you ever move passed it? The grief?" Fili challenged, his eyes still on the mug in his hands. He was already certain of the answer.

"It gets easier."

"But did you move passed it?" the dwarf prince repeated louder, sharper.

"No," Thorin shook his head. "You can't. But it will get better Fili. I swear it."

Fili's head shook gently in answer. Thorin kept whispering day to day, kept telling him to stay strong, to press on. He kept saying the pain would lessen. He kept promising it would get better. Fili only had to survive long enough. He only had to hold together long enough. But his uncle didn't know that it was too late for him. Fili was already broken. He was already shattered, and had been for a while. From the moment the truth struck him and chilled his blood. From the moment the truth had leapt between his heartbeats, stopping them. From the moment the truth had snatched his breath out of his lungs. From the moment the truth jerked the tears from his eyes. He had fallen apart. His very soul was damaged beyond repair.

It was too late for him. But Thorin couldn't see that, wouldn't see that. He was too certain that time could heal the brokenness in a newly broken hearts. Eventually.

The Mountain King sat beside his nephew watching the way the younger dwarf's shoulders bowed in weary pain. He wondered whether he looked as exhausted as Fili did, or if he hide his grief any better under decades of practice. He certainly felt the same hurt his heir did. It had been years since he'd felt such a raw and rampant heartache. Years since grief had held so very tightly. Years since he'd wept for a loss that made each moment feel like his chest was surely collapsing.

But it wasn't a new pain. No, it was a hurt let loose once again to terrorize what peace he had found. And Thorin was not sure how many times he could take it. How many times he could survivor the blow. How many times he could watch another loss unravel all happiness around him. Or how many times he could tell the ones he loved that they had lost more still. He didn't want to face his sister. Didn't want to witness her heartbreak once more. He had watched Dis stagger to her knees when he told her of Frerin's death. He had watched her fall apart before him when he told her that her husband had been killed. But this time…how could he tell her that her child was dead?

He wasn't sure how he could face the pain in her eyes again, only that he would soon have to.

"Your mother should be arriving tomorrow," he told Fili softly.

His mother. He had made her a promise. Not like Kili's promise. She gave Kili a stone. Something solid and touchable. Something he could hold to and remember his pledge. Something to remind him to think before he acted. To throw a few cautious steps into his race towards recklessness. To litter his impulsive thoughts with reason now and again. To catch him when the chance came for daring behavior. And something to check his ever wandering and adventurous heart. She gave it to her youngest son to remind him of everything he had to come home to. To remind him he had something to fight for in moments of doubt. To give him courage in moments of fear. To give him hope when the darkness came. She gave him that stone so he would remember his promise. To return to her.

She did not give Fili a stone. His was always a vow spoken with silence words. It was always known that he would be careful. He would be responsible and safe. He would be sensible and protective and always ready for whatever came. He would be all these things for the both of them. She had never had to worry over Fili like she had Kili. It was always understood that Fili would come back. He would remember that she was waiting for them. He would know and understand the danger of the quest. He would not underestimate its peril, nor be so quick to run towards harm even in the name of honor. He would remember his mother's parting eyes begging him to return with his brother. Because Fili remembered something Kili did not. He remembered his mother's tears the night their father died. He remembered her broken weeping and the pain she endured. And he remembered the plead she had whispered through her sobs as she cradled her oldest child.

" _Promise you won't leave me too dear one. Promise me you will always come back."_ Fili remembered his response that night despite his youth and the uncertainty his felt in the shaking arms of his broken mother. It was something he had never know before.

" _I promise."_ And he remembered the way his eyes had flashed to his baby brother, the sleeping babe unaware of the pain around him. Fili remembered the second pledge he had suddenly made that day. _"I promise to always bring him back too."_ So it was their mother did not give Fili a stone. The memory of a whispered promise long ago that lingered in his eyes each time they parted was always enough.

He had failed, he knew it…His mother would not forgive him.

But then, she was always more generous than she should be…She could.

And she was always stronger than he could believe…She might.

And she always loved him despite what he did…She would.

He didn't deserve to be forgiven. There was no amends for what had been lost. There was only heartbreak.

Thorin watched Fili, trying to decide if his mother's arrival was something he was desperate for or dreaded. The dwarf king could not tell from his nephew's distant gaze which the younger dwarf was facing most. He knew only that he felt both. He was desperate to see his sister again yes. Desperate to hold her in his arms and draw from the strength and comfort she always had in abundance even at her weakest. But he dreaded the moment he would have to face her grief and her rage. He knew Dis well enough to know she would not crumple, not even now. There had always been a fire that burned inside of her. And it had always been that flame that kept her going, breathing, fighting. Even when everything else in her died it did not. A stubborn ember that refused to suffocate. And it would keep burning now. Thorin knew she was strong.

But he would have to explain to her what he had done. He would have to tell her how he left them behind. And he would have to reveal how he had failed her. But for now he needed to explain that day to the one it had wrecked the most.

"Fili," he began gently, "that day in Lake Town, I was not thinking clearly. I never meant to abandon the two of you. I only wanted to protect him."

"You wanted what was best for you."

"No," Thorin denied. "I was mistaken in my judgment, I see that now. I was blinded by the sickness, by greed," he said heavily. "But I left Kili so he could heal."

"You left him so he would not slow you down," Fili snapped. His mind was still clear enough to know how he felt, to know what he thought, and drunk enough to say it.

Thorin looked at his nephew with evident hurt. "I…"

"No Thorin," Fili stopped him. "I was there. You cared only for your treasure that day. Do not tell me now that you wanted to protect him when it was you who hurt him so deeply. You crushed him when you left him behind. He only ever wanted to follow you uncle," Fili said bitterly. "You did not protect him from yourself and your greed." The shaking dwarf prince stood on unsteady legs and met Thorin's eyes for the first time that evening. "We none did enough to protect him. We all made mistakes. But I own to mine. Do not try to bury yours in lies. Don't deny your fault. You owe him at least that much." Once more Fili left quickly, leaving his uncle silent and as shaken as he was.

Thorin remained sat there utterly stunned. Hearing Fili tell him something he had feared somewhere so deep inside him he had never even let it surface shook him to the core. He knew he hurt his nephews when he abandoned them. He knew he had let greed for riches hold so strong a sway over him that he hadn't even bothered to worry for them when they were under attack from a dragon. He knew he had failed them. Utterly and completely. And yet…somehow he had convinced himself that part of him had still cared. Part of him had truly wanted Kili to heal. Part of him had scolded his own greed for a moment when he stood on Erebor's battlements and watched the fire descend. Part of him had not been so broken that he really turned his back on Fili and Kili without a single hesitation.

But he had.

He'd known that he made the greatest mistake of his life. But as long as he convinced himself that even at his darkest there had been just a bit of good left he could go on. Not forgive himself. Never forgive himself. But live with himself.

Yet hearing Fili's words now made him realize, for the first time, the true extent of his betrayal. He realized just how far his greed had reached. He realized how deeply he had actually hurt his beloved youngest nephew. There had been no good left in him at his lowest. Only darkness.

And for the first time, the King Under the Mountain realized just what he had truly done. What it cost him, however, he already knew too well.

 **O O O**

The tomb was not new. It had been built long ago by the one who were now dead and meant to be placed in the same crypt they had constructed. But they were not. Thror had built this vault where he was to lie and his descendants after him. He had fashioned a glorious chamber and embellished it with the riches he dug from its earth. Adorned with wealth, it was a place for kings to rest when their years were spent. A place worthy of he and his heirs after him. But fate had deemed it fitting that they would dig a grave they would never come to occupy. A much more humble sepulcher that lacked grandeur and worth was instead their burial sight. For those fortunate enough to be buried. A place that would only be remembered by a precious few and forgotten by most. But not the crypt that was meant to be theirs.

No, the tomb was not new. But it was empty. There was not a single body buried in the stone, only dead enough to fill it if the kings and princes and lords had been laid where they were meant to. There was not even any memorials to celebrate their lives and mark their ends.

Expect for one.

Only in the center of the empty stone crypt on the only bier that held anything at all was a single knife. Two burning torches on either side so it alone stood out from the shadows. So the gold of its handle could shine when nothing else did. It was his. Or had been, before he threw it to Kili and it had become his bother's weapon as surely as it had ever been his own. Someone had placed it down there. Someone had brushed the years of dust from the stone bier. They had laid the blade carefully in the center. They had lit the torches that stood at its sides.

But he had cleaned the knife himself. Fili had washed the dirt and ash and blood from the weapon he had once so prized. In burning hot water he had rubbed every mark and smug from the blade and polished the gold engraved handle until to shone. He was not sure why, but he had washed it. Maybe the thought of orc blood dried on it was too repulsive. Maybe he couldn't stand the ash and mud covering where Kili's fingerprints belongs. Maybe anything but a spotless weapon wasn't enough to justify the warrior Kili was. Whatever the purpose, he had washed it. And someone had placed it down there as the only thing to bury in his brother's name.

He inched closer, slowly, part of him eager to reach this symbol of his grief and the other reluctant to stand so close to his pain. Before he was ready he was standing in front of it, able to grip the edge of the stone for much needed support.

They pretended that he was there in this empty stone crypt, like this place had anything to do with Kili. But he wasn't. And this dark chamber could never represent Kili who always disliked the dark because he loved the light too much. They told Fili they would wait. They said they would wait until everyone arrived to hold the ceremony so all could be there to honor him. But it didn't matter. They would all gather around nothing but a single blade and say goodbye to a life that was so large is couldn't possible be contained by the only object they had as a memorial.

As he observed his knife laying in the torch light, Fili realized that it could very easily be his own memorial. And in many ways it was. A part of him laid on that stone and would never get back up. But it seemed fitting. Or as close at it could be. It was the last weapon Kili defended his life with, the only one he fell with. Besides, Fili was far too selfish to part with his brother's bow.

The utter silence of the tomb seemed as unfitting as not. It did not at all honor Kili's loud, happy nature. But it captured perhaps too well the lonely quiet that came with his absence.

Fili could still remember the moment he realized he loved Kili. It wasn't when the younger was born and first blinked up at him with his bright brown eyes. It wasn't when Kili first grinned at him with delight. Or when Fili first held his baby brother in his arms. It wasn't when Kili uttered Fili's name for the first time. Or when he reached up with short fingers towards his older sibling. It certainly wasn't when Fili first head him cry. Or when Kili used to grab a hold of him and tried to follow him around. It was the day he stood beside his father's grave holding Kili's little hand in his own. The day he had to stay with Kili because their mother could not; she was too busy weeping in Thorin's arms. The day he didn't want anyone else but his brother next to him. And suddenly he knew then that he never wanted the hand in his to disappear. There were tears in his own eyes that day because unlike Kili he knew. He knew his father was gone. And he never wanted Kili to be gone too. Looking in his baby brother's face, wild hair framing Kili's uncertain expression, Fili knew he did not want to lose his brother the way he had lost his father. He knew at that moment that he never wanted to say goodbye to Kili, never. Because he loved him.

"Kili," Fili's whisper shook as his fingers pressed against the stone of his bother's burial table. "I…" he drew a deep breath. "You never failed to amaze me with your strength. I was…always so proud of you, proud to be your brother."

The dwarf prince's fist closed tight in an effort to defend himself against the pain assailing his heart.

"You were always making me laugh. And now…" his words choked, drenched in emotion. "I miss you. I will always miss you. I will never stop missing you."

He had wondered before how his mother and uncle could salvage their crushed lives after they lost their family. How they stopped their wounds from bleeding out. How they mended the brokenness around them, inside them enough to stand healed and whole again. Now he knew they hadn't. They could not have. There was no way he would ever be able to stop this from hurting. It was not possible that he could face life without always limping through this grief. This would never leave him. He could never be whole. And he was not certain how one could ever be.

"You used to say I wasn't afraid. You believed there was nothing I really feared. That was never true. I was always…always afraid of how much I loved you. Because Kili…" Fili's body trembled under his pain. "I promised myself this would never happen, that I would never let it. But brother I always knew I could lose you. And I was always afraid of what would happen to me if it did. Afraid of this."

Fili wasn't sure why fortune had favored those who had always fought against him. Why it seemed hardship had trampled circle around him since the moment his feet left Ered Luin. He hadn't cared before. But now with most of his family already dead he could no longer ignore the hateful fates that pushed him beyond his limit. Someday, someone would be punished for the things he had lost. Maybe the orcs that had taken them from him. Or maybe the few left who cared about him. Because though it was not his mother's fault any more than his dead father's, she would still pay the price of his pain. She would see him turn into something he had never been. Gone was the son she had raised and loved. He could not be that anymore no matter how much he wished that he could. Because Fili knew he had been broken. And he would never be the same.


	24. Chapter 24

**Heirs of What**

 **| Part 3 |**

 **-Places Beyond Hope-**

 **Chapter (24)** _ **'The Mother of Loss'**_

Bilbo was not quite certain how he felt about meeting the sister of Thorin Oakenshield. He'd been told she was meant to arrive that day, and the idea unsettled him a bit, leaving him just a little nervous. He'd heard so many accounts of Dis that he wasn't sure which he could believe. Fili and Kili had once told him that their mother was the strongest being in middle earth. Thorin had called her wise, claiming that she had always possessed wisdom far beyond her years. Dwalin said she was the most stubborn dwarf to ever live, more stubborn even than Thorin. Balin instead made mention of her kindness, insisting that she had a heart that would not be darkened. Oin spoke of her mischievous quality, a streak of good humor and fun that left none in doubt of the source of Fili and Kili's own nature. And Gloin said she had a scowl that could tame two wayward dwarf lads that no one and nothing else could.

Perhaps what worried Bilbo a bit was the thought that she could be all of these things at once. He realized she had been characterized by all that knew her as, put simply, fierce. Fierce in everything that she did and in all that she was. And the hobbit was a bit nervous about facing one who embodied all of these things at once. Maybe a little intimidated. He had come to know many of those traits in isolation. But he wasn't sure how he could handle them all together, an imposing figure built with every quality he had come to love and struggle with in his dwarf companions. He didn't know how anyone was meant to.

And yet, despite the twitch of apprehension he felt, Bilbo was as excited as he was nervous to meet Dis of Erebor. She was, after all, the mother of Fili and Kili and his love for the lads made him certain that he would not be able to keep from loving their mother too. He was also curious to finally know the dwarf that apparently even Thorin heeded the counsel of, or at least sometimes. Yes, Bilbo was eager to finally meet the princess of Erebor that he'd heard so much about.

But then, consistent with the tangled mess that was his life as of late, there was still another part of their meeting that he could not ignore, a sad one. She would be grieving. She would be mourning the death of her son. And so Bilbo didn't think he would be getting to meet Dis, not really. Like the rest of them, she would not be who she used to be. And, what was perhaps the truest reason for his apprehension, Bilbo fears he would only get to meet Dis's fierce rage and heartbreak and nothing more.

Still, Bilbo was determined not to make up his mind about Dis until he met her, and not to let the circumstances decide their relationship. After all, he figured, he owed it to the Durins he knew to welcome the only one he didn't. He was hopeful that giving a chance and perhaps some time for them both to heal, he would come to admire Dis as much has he had her family.

Even her brother, who was always so stubborn and burdened both when he shouldn't be and certain when it was merited. Now of course, his heart was especially heavy and none could rightly question it. But with his sister's arrival imminent and surely adding to the load Thorin carried upon his shoulders, the Company's burglar believed it was a good idea for someone to check on the Mountain King. Though he wasn't sure exactly where to find Thorin, he followed a hunch that led him once more to the old throne room. Bilbo had found him there before when the dwarf king had been trapped in his own mind and doing a good job of punishing himself for his mistakes. The past, Bilbo figured, had a way of repeating itself when not checked regularly.

He was not wrong.

Thorin was not pacing this time, but standing. His back to the doorway and in kind the hobbit, he stood as unmoving as the throne before him. His head was held only high enough to stare at it and not an inch higher, and his hands were clasped at his back.

"Thorin," the hobbit began. He was given no answer. Bilbo inches closer and cleared his throat, waiting for a response for so long he was certain that Thorin had somehow not heard him. But finally the dwarf spoke.

"I see you've made it a habit to interrupt me here."

"Is it too much for one to seek an audience with a king in a throne room?" Bilbo asked. "Besides," he continued, "I hardly think I can be interrupting when you are doing so little." Even as he said it Bilbo knew it wasn't true. Though he was still and quiet, they both knew Thorin was doing a great deal of thinking. Too much, the hobbit suspected.

"There is not much to be gained from an audience with a king so ill suited for the throne," Thorin said, still not turning to face his companion.

"I agree," the burglar nodded though no one saw it, "I would not waste my time with such a king." His meaning was not lost to the dwarf before him and Bilbo saw Thorin's muscle tighten as he finally turned around to face him.

"Tell me master hobbit, what great ruler puts his ambitions before the safety of his kin? What kind of king watches his family fall under attack and does nothing? What brother has to tell his sister that her son is dead and the fault is his?"

"A sick one. One that fell under an ancient curse," the hobbit answered him as if it were the simplest question he had ever been asked.

"Yes," Thorin agreed, "I fell."

Bilbo bounced on his heels, squiring in the silence for a moment. "Tell me Thorin, what kind of hobbit leaving his home to join a quest nearly certain to fail? What kind of dwarves follow one into a mountain of gold guarded by a dragon? What kind of lads follow their uncle across Middle Earth to fight for a home they have never known?"

It was clear when Thorin had no answer and only a look of confusion that Bilbo had effetely rendered him silent.

"Those that respect and trust their leader. Those that even love him. Things that were not forgotten even when you fell Thorin. Even after you did we all followed you. Because you proved yourself to all of us in some way or another. Our respect was not won in one moment of victory, just as it was not lost in one moment of failure. I do not know Fili and Kili's mother. But I think she will agree."

Thorin shook his head, a remorseful sigh preceding his words. "You act as if this failure can be fixed or forgotten. Do you truly think my sister will forgive me for letting Kili die? Do you think she can excuse the one moment of failure that will cause her a lifetime of grief? Do you not understand? I don't want forgiveness for this. It is unforgivable and to act like it is anything less is to pretend Kili meant less than he did."

"You act as if you killed him yourself. Like you held the blade. If that were the case Thorin then no, I don't think anyone would forgive you. But I know that even when you were consumed by the dragon sickness you did not want him to die. Even then you wanted both Fili and Kili safe. And I think that is why Dis can forgive you," Bilbo told him, not quite certain himself where his confidence came from. But somehow he felt what he said was true. "The question is Thorin, can you, will you forgive yourself?"

Thorin could not answer the question anymore than he could do what Bilbo asked of him. He could not forgive himself.

"All this time I thought it was selfishness that undid me, that caused all of this. But now I think it was pride. When this quest started I desired this more than the gold," the dwarf king said as he nodded towards the throne. "I was too proud to work in the village of men for the rest of my life. I was too proud to stay where my people and I were safe. I was too proud to let this throne sit empty when I had a claim to it. Too proud to be thought a coward. Too proud to let others rule over me when I had the chance to rule."

"Then it must have taken a great deal of strength to break that dwarfish pride now," Bilbo observed, once again changing Thorin's self-chasten into something with respect.

"And what does a halfling know about dwarfish pride?"

"If you think I have spent these past months with you and not learned a great deal more than I'd like you're mistaken," Bilbo smiled softly before containing. "I know it is not the prideful who humble themselves, but the humble who demonstrate humility. Those who were perhaps once prideful but no longer are."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Bilbo answered, "you are not the same dwarf I left the Shire with. You are not proud as you once were, and you are not beyond reproof. No one would claim that you are without fault. I am not saying you haven't made mistakes. I am not saying you should forget them. And I am not saying we haven't lost greatly."

"What then?"

"You should allow others to decide what they can forgive. You should stop taking full responsibility for something you only had a hand in. And," Bilbo paused, "you should stop punishing yourself. It will not change things."

Thorin didn't say anything but he looked, for the first time, like he was considering what the hobbit had said.

"Beside," Bilbo continued, "your sister, whatever she feels towards you, will need your strength not your remorse."

 **O O O**

Fili hadn't slept well the previous night. It was not a rare phenomenon as of late, but he had been particularly troubled, tortured by vivid nightmares of disownment and shame and loneliness. He knew they weren't conjured from any actual reality, past or future. He knew he would not be disowned, whether he deserved it or not. He knew the only shame he would be subjected to was his own. And he knew he would not live out the remainder of his life alone, though at the present it felt like it. But even if they were all unfounded fears created in the hours of night, they still _felt_ real. They still caused him to wake in a tearful panic, feeling his own abandonment acutely. And even if they themselves disappeared with his nightmares, they left the real terrors behind, stirred awake by his misery. When all else faded he still had his grief, his sadness, and his dread.

That last sentiment had steadily increased as his mother's arrive drew nearer. Fili wanted to see her. He missed her terribly and desired her company above anyone else's now. But when she arrived he would have to tell her about Kili. He'd asked Thorin whether she knew and he'd learned that she didn't. So he would have to do it. It was the single task he dreaded most of all; telling his mother that his younger brother was dead. It was his job to do, if it was anyone's it was his. They were his family, his brother and mother so he would have to tell her.

But how was one supposed to confess a failure so great?

Fili didn't know how he would tell his mother that he had not been able to protect Kili, hadn't been able to keep him safe. He didn't know how to tell her that he couldn't keep his promise any more than Kili could.

She would be devastated. And he would have to watch her shatter once again, with no power to stop it and no way to comfort her. The thought of it made him feel like a child again seated in his mother's lap, her tears wetting his hair. The only thing he'd been able to do then was make her a promise. And now all he had done was break it. Now he had nothing to offer his mother but his own heartbreak. And he felt guilty for it. He wanted to ease her suffering. He wanted to keep the pain from her. He wanted at least to protect her when he hadn't been able to protect Kili. But unlike the naive child he'd been before, Fili knew the truth this time. He couldn't do anything. He could only cry with her.

And he was prepared to do at least that. As much as he felt at times like retreating from the world and being left alone with his grief, he would not. And as much as he felt like hiding from his mother's eyes in shame, he would not. He would not shut her out, would not avoid her. He was prepared to face her, was ready even.

Until he had to.

Fili heard footsteps behind him, heavier than Bilbo's and lighter than any of the rest of the Company, growing louder as they hurried towards him. There was nothings striking about the noise, and yet something so familiar in the quick footfall that is made him freeze only a few steps up the same, open stairway he had descended into the depths of Erebor when he first arrived at the Mountain. He'd heard that sound before, more than once since he was a child. A rushed pace just shy of a run that only barely disguised the panic driving the movement.

When Fili was little he'd cut his hand on a stone falling while playing outside with Kili. At the sight of his older sibling's blood the younger dwarf had raced inside to retrieve his mother and Fili remembered how she hurried to check on him, her footsteps trampling the wildflowers as she came. When Thorin scalded his arm at the forge one day when Fili was with him, he had rushed ahead to inform his mother. She had hastened out to meet her brother, quick to offer aid even though she was barefooted and her toes were sunk into a good inch of mud. Whenever he or Kili or even Thorin were in trouble Fili would heard Dis coming, always rushing to them to make sure they were well.

Yes, Fili knew that foot fall; the sound of his mother's worry coming towards him.

He turned around just as Dis reached the bottom of the stairs, her feet stilling the moment she caught sight of him. Evidently she had come rushing into the Mountain before anybody could meet her at the entrance because there was no one with her. She looked frantic and yet still beautiful, her eyes wide, her hair a dark mess, and her face flushed. Fili suddenly felt a dreadful knot in his stomach and a violent panic in his heart. He had missed her so very greatly. For months he had waited to see her again. But now she was here. And now he would have to tell her.

Dis, frozen where she stood, found her son's face immediately. She waited through the few moments of severe silence for the truth to come, not daring for even a breath. She had been waiting, searching for the past minutes to find a soul in this Mountain, eager and terrified in equal measure. For days she had been waiting, since the Misty Mountains fell away at her back and the ancient kingdom of her youth rose up before her. She'd been waiting for weeks, since word came to her that her youngest had been taken by orcs and had not yet been rescued. For months she had waited, since the moment Thorin had taken Fili and Kili with him. The three of them had walking out her door and out of Ered Luin leaving her alone. She had waited for years to know if her brother's Quest would succeed. Ever since they were driven from Erebor Dis had watched Thorin's eye travel again and again back to the direction of the home they'd been raised in. She'd known the Quest was coming even then. All of her life it seemed she'd been waiting. Even while still in Erebor there had been battles. She'd watched her father and her kin march to a fight she wasn't certain they would return from. She was always waiting to see if those she loved came back. Always waiting to see if her family had lived.

And now again she waited for fate to fall, a cold sensation pooling in her stomach. Of dread. Of hope. Of everything.

Dis stood in the silence and stared up at Fili with a terrible question in her eyes. And Fili could not but stand there in misery. He could not answer her. He could not speak at all. He could only look back at Dis, her gaze steady and yet somehow frantic, searching him.

And then suddenly his mother's eyes changed, and she drew a sharp intake of breath, and she flinched like she nearly stumbled backwards but caught herself. And for a moment she just stood there. Then finally she moved.

"My son," she choked as her eyes grew bright with tears and she rushed forwards and gathered Fili into her arms. He wasn't sure if she meant him or Kili. But immediately Fili felt a selfish relief break over him. He did not have to tell her. She already knew. At his mother's touch Fili crumbled. Suddenly he was a child again like the night his father died. His brokenness was utterly exposed. His vulnerabilities bare. He could not keep his sobs quiet. He couldn't pretend he had strength that he didn't.

Suddenly, in fear he wondered if she could really know. Would his mother hold him in her arms if she really knew the truth? And so somehow, like they refused to be unspoken, the words still came even though Fili hated himself for saying them.

"Ma, Kili…he is-"

He felt her head nod against his shoulder, "I know," she cried. Her eyes squeezed shut in pain, her fingers buried in Fili's golden hair as she clung to her eldest child.

Her only child.

A violent anguish overwhelmed Dis's heart. A grief, raging and unstoppable and unlike any she'd ever known set about destroying her, dismantling her in moments piece by piece. Her youngest, her Kili… Her warm-eyed son whom she loved as fiercely as anyone ever could….He was gone. The ground beneath her fell away and if not for Fili's arms Dis was sure she would fall with it, beyond this Mountain and her pain and awareness. She would fall into nothingness. And she wouldn't come back. Only Fili kept her tethered where she was. It was only he that kept a fire inside her burning, now flaming with an intense agony that refused to let her drift away. Only Fili was beneath her feet, the stone on which she stood. Only her love for the son in her arms was greater than her heartbreak.

And she held him, as if both their lives depended on it. And she drowned in the sorrow that came rushing from all sides, flooding her heart as if attempting to flood the Mountain itself.

 **O O O**

Gandalf liked to believe that one of the things his had learned during his very long lifetime was patience. If nothing more, he had certainly learned the value of such a trait. But whether the virtue itself had been gain was less obvious, and surely now when he felt the familiar hints of impatience revealing themselves again. The closer he drew to Moria the more restless he became. And by the time he and Legolas were less than an hour from Moria's gate he was completely unsettled.

He knew not what to expect when at last they reached it. If the ancient kingdom was indeed crawling with orcs like he suspected, discretion would be their only ally. If the enemy was spreading and taking footholds in new places Gandalf knew he needed to know it. Not that Moria had been free from evil for quite some time. Darkness had settled there long ago. Indeed even orcs had overrun the realm when it was abandoned and many had never felt again. But an enemy that was gathering and organizing was far more dangerous than leaderless orcs left to themselves. With merely some direction they could be mobilized and used for Azog's army. Or worse.

There was a second reason for Gandalf's impatience though, one he had been trying to still for days now. The possibility, no matter how slight is may be, that the orcs had indeed taken prisoners with them was reason to hope. If they truly had not slaughtered all their captives outside of Gundabad there was still the possibility of saving them. And the thought that one of them, no matter how unlikely it may be, could be Kili, made that hope burn just a bit brighter. It was a quiet hope, a guarded one. One that would remain unspoken. Gandalf didn't dare let himself voice this tender chance aloud. He didn't dare stroke this fragile thread on which his hope was tied for fear it would snap. Or worse, that it wouldn't. If he touched this delicate possibility, if he looked at it for too long it could trap him. Hope, the strongest force the wizard had ever known, would reach out and take him until he was completely dependent of this meager chance.

Gandalf was determined to protect himself from such a foolish thing. He decided he couldn't let himself dwell on such a faint possibility. He would not let his hope outgrow his good sense this time. For once, it was best to keep it in check, as not to allow disappointment the heavy blow it could have ready. He could not be thus so distracted from the potential threats he was facing. The uncertainty of what he and the elf prince were walking into indeed troubled Gandalf, making him uneasy and impatience in equal measure. And so, he sought a distraction in his companion.

"Tell me Prince Legolas, if you led your father's soldiers to Rivendell, why then are you now alone?" Legolas looked at him with a bit of surprise.

"Are you to know all of the comings and goings of my father's realm?"

"To my knowledge there have been few comings and goings in Thranduil's realm. The Woodland elves have kept to themselves with little exception. That is, until recently," Gandalf remarked, ignoring the elf's slight.

Legolas was silent for a moment before answering. "There have been many stirrings in the lands that have caught my father's attention. Ones that can not be ignored. That is why he send me to Rivendell."

'But you did not return to him with a report?"

"I sent my company of guards back to Mirkwood with word," Legolas told him.

"And yet you did not join them. Where were you going when you came upon me?" If Gandalf felt that he was prying where he didn't belong he didn't show it. Indeed he appeared quite entitled to the information he asked for. But then, the Grey Wizard had never been one to keep to his own business.

"Caras Galadhon," the elf prince answered, willing to share the nature of his affair.

"What business does Thranduil have with Lothlorien's city?"

"I confess," Legolas said, "this was my own errand. I wanted to speak with Lady Galadriel." He had decided nearly as soon as he left for Rivendell that he would not return to Mirkwood before he spoke to the Lady.

"Why?" Gandalf wondered.

His companion hesitated but a moment before answering, "An orc prisoner spoke of an enemy. One my father refuses to speak of, though I am certain he knows more about it than he will share. But I believe there are few matters the Lady of Light knows nothing of."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed and he frowned, "Did this orc say anything else about the nature of this enemy, or the source of it ?" the wizard asked, suddenly leaning closer and talking deeper. Every apprehension, every caution screamed inside him, warning Gandalf that his greatest fears were slowly being realized.

Legolas shook his head. "My father didn't give him the chance."

"Umm," was the only answer Gandalf bothered to give as he appeared to drift into thought.

"Do you know anything about this enemy?"

Did he know? Yes, more than he wished. "Yes," he said, remembering with little effort an old and wicked darkness with greedy hands and a hateful heart. Did he remember, or could he just not forget? "And I fear you will not need to see Lady Galadriel to learn more of it."

"How then?" Legolas questioned impatiently, troubled and intrigued by the wizard's reaction to its mention.

"You may very well find it there," Gandalf answer with a nod before him. At last the gates of Moria could be seen, standing ancient and dark, and wholly unwelcoming.

"What exactly do you think is in there?" the elf ask, for the first time showing something akin to concern.

"Evil."

* * *

 **I would love to hear if you liked this chapter! Next time you'll get to see Dis and Thorin's meeting. Thank you as always for reading, and to those of you who have reviewed, followed, or favorited, again I thank you so much! It means a lot. Have a blessed day :)**


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